THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS   •   ATLANTA    •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   'CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


A    MAINSAIL 
HAUL 


BY 

JOHN   MASEFIELD 


i?eto  gorfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1913 


Copyright,  1013 
By  JOHN  MASEFIELD 

Set  up  and  electrotyped 

First  Published,  June  1st,  1905 
Second  Edition,  Revised  and  much  Enlarged,  September,  1913 


FERRiS    PRINTING    COMPANY 
New  YOHK.   N.   Y.,   U.   S.   A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Don  Alfonso's  Treasure  Hunt    .         .         i 

Port  of  Many  Ships 

9 

Sea  Superstition  . 

14 

A  Sailor's  Yarn    . 

22 

The  Yarn  of  Lanky  Job 

.       30 

From  the  Spanish 

36 

The  Seal  Man 

44 

The  Western  Islands  . 

5i 

Captain  John  Ward 

61 

Captain  John  Jennings 

85 

The  Voyage  of  the  Cygnet 

,      105 

Captain  Robert  Knox   . 

124 

Captain  John  Coxon    . 

.      133 

In  a  Castle  Ruin 

,      151 

A  Deal  of  Cards   . 

>     157 

The  Devil  and  the  Old  Mai 

f 

.      179 

I  yarned  with  ancient  shipmen  beside  the  galley  range 
And  some  were  fond  of  women,  but  all  were  fond  of 

change ; 
They   sang  their  quavering  chanties,  all   in  a  fo'c's'le 

drone, 
And  I  was  finely  suited,  if  I  had  only  known. 

I  rested  in  an  ale-house  that  had  a  sanded  floor, 
Where  seamen  sat  a-drinking  and  chalking  up  the  score ; 
They  yarned  of  ships  and  mermaids,  of  topsail  sheets 

and  slings, 
But  I  was  discontented;  I  looked  for  better  things. 

I  heard  a  drunken  fiddler,  in  Billy  Lee's  Saloon, 
I  brooked  an  empty  belly  with  thinking  of  the  tune : 
I  swung  the  doors  disgusted  as  drunkards  rose  to  dance, 
And  now  I  know  the  music  was  life  and  life's  romance. 


1904 


A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

DON  ALFONSO'S  TREASURE  HUNT 

Now  in  the  old  days,  before  steam,  there  was  a 
young  Spanish  buck  who  lived  in  Trinidad,  and 
his  name  was  Don  Alfonso.  Now  Trinidad  is 
known,  in  a  way  of  speaking,  among  sailormen, 
as  Hell's  Lid,  or  Number  One  Hatch,  by  reason 
of  its  being  very  hot  there.  They've  a  great  place 
there,  which  they  show  to  folk,  where  it's  like  a 
cauldron  of  pitch.  It  bubbles  pitch  out  of  the  earth, 
all  black  and  hot,  and  you  see  great  slimy  work- 
ings, all  across,  like  ropes  being  coiled  inside.  And 
talk  about  smell  there! — talk  of  brimstone! — why, 
it's  like  a  cattle-ship  gone  derelict,  that's  what  that 
place  is  like. 

Now  by  reason  of  the  heat  there,   the  folk  of 
those   parts — a   lot    of    Spaniards   mostly,    Dagoes 
I 


2  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

and  that — they  don't  do  nothing  but  just  sit 
around.  When  they  turn  out  of  a  morning  they 
get  some  yellow  paper  and  some  leaf  tobacco,  and 
they  rolls  what  they  calls  cigarellers  and  sticks 
them  in  their  ears  like  pens.  That's  their  day's 
work,  that  is — rolling  them  yellow  cigarellers. 
Well,  then,  they  set  around  and  they  smokes — 
big  men,  too,  most  of  them — and  they  put  flowers 
in  their  hats — red  roses  and  that — and  that's  how 
they  pass  their  time. 

Now  this  Don  Alfonso  he  was  a  terror,  he  was; 
for  they've  got  a  licker  in  those  parts.  If  you  put 
some  of  it  on  a  piece  of  paint-work — and  this  is 
gospel  that  I'm  giving  you — that  paint  it  comes 
off  like  you  was  using  turps.  Now  Don  Alfonso 
he  was  a  terror  at  that  licker — and  that's  the  sort 
of  Dago-boy  Alfonso  was. 

Now  Alfonso's  mother  was  a  widow,  and  he  was 
her  only  child,  like  in  the  play. 

Now  one  time,  when  Don  Alfonso  was  in  the 
pulperia  (that's  Spanish  for  grog-shop),  he  was 
a-bluin'  down  that  licker  the  same  as  you  or  I 
would  be  bluin'  beer.  And  there  was  a  gang  of 
Dagoes  there,  and  all  of  them  chewing  the  rag, 


DON  ALFONSO'S  TREASURE  HUNT  3 

and  all  of  them  going  for  the  vino — that's  the 
Spanish  name  for  wine — v-i-n-o.  It's  red  wine, 
vino  is ;  they  give  it  you  in  port  to  save  water. 

Now  among  them  fancy  Dagoes  there  was  a 
young  Eye-talian  who'd  been  treasure-hunting, 
looking  for  buried  treasure,  in  that  Blue  Nose 
ship  which  went  among  the  islands.  Looking  for 
gold,  he'd  been,  gold  that  was  buried  by  the 
pirates.  They're  a  gay  crew,  them  Blue  Nose 
fellers.  What'd  the  pirates  bury  treasure  for? 
Not  them.  It  stands  to  reason.  Did  you  ever  see 
a  shellback  go  reeving  his  dollars  down  a  rabbit- 
warren?  It  stands  to  reason.  Golden  dollar  coins 
indeed.  Bury  them  customs  fellers  if  you  like. 
Now  this  young  Dago,  he  was  coming  it  proud 
about  that  treasure.  In  one  of  them  Tortugas,  he 
was  saying,  or  off  the  Chagres,  or  if  not  there 
among  them  smelly  Samballs,  there's  tons  of  it 
lying  in  a  foot  of  sand  with  a  skellinton  on  the  top. 
They  used  to  kill  a  nigger,  he  was  saying,  when 
they  buried  their  blunt,  so's  his  ghost  would  keep 
away  thieves.  There's  a  sight  of  thieves,  ain't 
there,  in  them  smelly  Samballs?  An'  niggers  ain't 
got  no  ghosts,  not  that  I  ever  heard. 


4  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

Oh,  he  was  getting  gay  about  that  buried 
treasure.  Gold  there  was,  and  silver  dollars  and 
golden  jewels,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  "And 
I  knows  the  place,"  he  says,  "where  it's  all  lying," 
and  out  he  pulls  a  chart  with  a  red  crost  on  it, 
like  in  them  Deadwood  Dicky  books.  And  what 
with  the  vino  and  that  there  licker,  he  got  them 
Dagoes  strung  on  a  line.  So  the  end  of  it  was 
that  Don  Alfonso  he  came  down  with  the  blunt. 
And  that  gang  of  Dagoes  they  charters  a  brigantine 
— she'd  a  Bible  name  to  her,  as  is  these  Dagoes'  way 
— and  off  they  sails  a  galley-vaunting  looking  for 
gold  with  a  skellinton  on  the  top.  Now  one  dusk, 
just  as  they  was  getting  out  the  lamps  and  going 
forward  with  the  kettle,  they  spies  a  land  ahead 
and  sings  out  "Land,  O!"  By  dark  they  was 
within  a  mile  of  shore,  hove-to  off  a  light-house 
that  was  burning  a  red  flare.  Now  the  old  man 
he  comes  to  Alfonso,  and  he  says,  "I  dunno  what 
land  this  may  be.  There's  no  land  due  to  us  this 
week  by  my  account.  And  that  red  flare  there; 
there's  no  light  burning  a  flare  nearer  here  than 
Sydney."  "Let  go  your  anchor,"  says  Don  Alfonso, 
"for  land  there  is,  and  where  there's  land  there's 


DON    ALFONSO'S    TREASURE    HUNT     5 

rum.  And  lower  away  your  dinghy,  for  I'm  going 
in  for  a  drink.  You  can  take  her  in,  mister,  with 
two  of  the  hands,  and  then  lay  aboard  till  I 
whistle."  So  they  lower  the  dinghy,  and  Don 
Alfonso  takes  some  cigarellers,  and  ashore  he  goes 
for  that  there  licker. 

Now  when  he  sets  foot  ashore,  and  the  boat  was 
gone  off,  Don  Alfonso  he  walks  up  the  quay  in 
search  of  a  pulperia.  And  it  was  a  strange  land 
he  was  in,  and  that's  the  truth.  Quiet  it  was, 
and  the  little  white  houses  still  as  corfins,  and 
only  a  lamp  or  two  burning,  and  never  a  sound 
nor  a  song.  Oh,  a  glad  lad  was  Don  Alfonso  when 
he  sees  a  nice  little  calaboosa  lying  to  leeward, 
with  a  red  lamp  burning  in  the  stoop.  So  in  he 
goes  for  a  dram — into  the  grog-house,  into  a  little 
room  with  a  fire  lit  and  a  little  red  man  behind  the 
bar.  Now  it  was  a  caution  was  that  there  room, 
for  instead  of  there  bein'  casks  like  beer  or  vino 
casks,  there  was  only  corfins.  And  the  little  red 
man  he  gives  a  grin,  and  he  gives  the  glad  hand 
to  Don  Alfonso,  and  he  sets  them  up  along  the 
bar,  and  Alfonso  lights  a  cigareller.  So  then  the 
Don  drinks,  and  the  little  red  man  says,  "Salue." 


6  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

And  the  little  red  man  drinks,  and  Alfonso  says, 
"Drink  hearty."  And  then  they  drinks  two  and 
two  together.  Then  Alfonso  sings  some  sort  of  a 
Dago  song,  and  the  little  red  man  he  plays  a  tune 
on  the  bones,  and  then  they  sets  them  up  again 
and  has  more  bones  and  more  singing.  Then 
Alfonso  says,  "It's  time  I  was  gettin'  aboard"; 
but  the  little  man  says,  "Oh,  it's  early  days  yet — 
the  licker  lies  with  you."  So  every  time  Alfonso 
tries  to  go,  the  little  red  man  says  that.  Till  at 
last,  at  dawn,  the  little  red  man  turned  into  a  little 
red  cock  and  crowed  like  a  cock  in  the  ox  yard. 
And  immejitly  the  corfins  all  burst  into  skellintons, 
and  the  bar  broke  into  bits,  and  the  licker  blew  up 
like  corpse-lights — like  blue  fire,  the  same  as  in 
the  scripters.  And  the  next  thing  Don  Alfonso 
knowed  he  was  lying  on  the  beach  with  a  head 
on  him  full  of  mill-wheels  and  the  mill  working 
overtime. 

So  he  gets  up  and  sticks  his  head  in  the  surf, 
and  blows  his  whistle  for  the  boat  to  come.  But 
not  a  sign  of  a  boat  puts  in,  and  not  a  sign  of  a 
hand  shows  aboard,  neither  smoke  nor  nothin'. 
So  when  he'd  blew  for  maybe  an  hour  he  sees  a 


DON    ALFONSO'S    TREASURE    HUNT     7 

old  skellinton  of  a  boat  lying  bilged  on  the  sand. 
And  he  went  off  in  her,  paddling  with  the  rud- 
der, and  he  got  alongside  before  she  actually 
sank. 

Now,  when  he  gets  alongside,  that  there  brigan- 
tine  was  all  rusty  and  rotted  and  all  grown  green 
with  grass.  And  flowers  were  growing  on  the 
deck,  and  barnacles  were  a  foot  thick  below  the 
water.  The  gulls  had  nested  in  her  sails,  and  the 
ropes  drifted  in  the  wind  like  flags,  and  a  big  red 
rose-bush  was  twisted  up  the  tiller.  And  there  in 
the  grass,  with  daisies  and  such,  were  the  lanky 
white  bones  of  all  them  Dagoes.  They  lay  where 
they'd  died,  with  the  vino  casks  near  by  and  a 
pannikin  of  tin  that  they'd  been  using  as  a  dice- 
box.  They  was  dead  white  bones,  the  whole  crew 
— dead  of  waiting  for  Don  Alfonso  while  he  was 
drinking  with  the  little  red  man. 

So  Don  Alfonso  he  kneels  and  he  prays,  and  "Oh," 
he  says,  "that  I  might  die  too,  and  me  the  cause 
of  these  here  whited  bones,  and  all  from  my  love 
of  licker !  Never  again  will  I  touch  rum,"  he  says. 
"If  I  reach  home,"  he  says — he  was  praying,  you 
must  mind — "you'll  see  I  never  will."     And  he 


8  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

hacks  through  the  cable  with  an  axe  and  runs  up 
the  rotten  jib  by  pully-hauly. 

Long  he  was  sailing,  living  on  dew  and  gulls' 
eggs,  sailing  with  them  white  bones  in  that  there 
blossoming  old  hulk.  But  at  long  last  he  comes 
to  Port  of  Spain  and  signals  for  a  pilot,  and  brings 
up  just  as  sun  was  sinking.  Thirty  long  years  had 
he  been  gone,  and  he  was  an  old  man  when  he 
brought  the  whited  bones  home.  But  his  old  mother 
was  alive,  and  they  lived  happily  ever  after.  But 
never  any  licker  would  he  drink,  except  only  dew 
or  milk — he  was  that  changed  from  what  he  was. 


PORT    OF   MANY   SHIPS 


PORT   OF    MANY   SHIPS 

"Down  in  the  sea,  very  far  down,  under  five  miles 
of  water,  somewhere  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  there 
is  a  sea  cave,  all  roofed  with  coral.  There  is  a 
brightness  in  the  cave,  although  it  is  so  far  below 
the  sea.  And  in  the  light  there  the  great  sea-snake 
is  coiled  in  immense  blue  coils,  with  a  crown  of 
gold  upon  his  horned  head.  He  sits  there  very 
patiently  from  year  to  year,  making  the  water 
tremulous  with  the  threshing  of  his  gills.  And 
about  him  at  all  times  swim  the  goggle-eyed  dumb 
creatures  of  the  sea.  He  is  the  king  of  all  the 
fishes,  and  he  waits  there  until  the  judgment  day, 
when  the  waters  shall  pass  away  for  ever  and  the 
dim  kingdom  disappear.  At  times  the  coils  of  his 
body  wreathe  themselves,  and  then  the  waters 
above  him  rage.  One  folding  of  his  coil  will  cover 
a  sea  with  shipwreck;  and  so  it  must  be  until  the 


io  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

sea  and  the  ships  come  to  an  end  together  in  that 
serpent's  death-throe. 

"Now  when  that  happens,  when  the  snake  is 
dying,  there  will  come  a  lull  and  a  hush,  like  when 
the  boatswain  pipes.  And  in  that  time  of  quiet  you 
will  hear  a  great  beating  of  ships'  bells,  for  in  every 
ship  sunken  in  the  sea  the  life  will  go  leaping  to 
the  white  bones  of  the  drowned.  And  every 
drowned  sailor,  with  the  weeds  upon  him,  will 
spring  alive  again;  and  he  will  start  singing  and 
beating  on  the  bells,  as  he  did  in  life  when  starting 
out  upon  a  cruise.  And  so  great  and  sweet  will  be 
the  music  that  they  make  that  you  will  think  little 
of  harps  from  that  time  on,  my  son. 

"Now  the  coils  of  the  snake  will  stiffen  out,  like 
a  rope  stretched  taut  for  hauling.  His  long  knobbed 
horns  will  droop.  His  golden  crown  will  roll  from 
his  old,  tired  head.  And  he  will  lie  there  as  dead 
as  herring,  while  the  sea  will  fall  calm,  like  it  was 
before  the  land  appeared,  with  never  a  breaker  in 
her.  Then  the  great  white  whale,  old  Moby  Dick, 
the  king  of  all  the  whales,  will  rise  up  from  his 
quiet  in  the  sea,  and  go  bellowing  to  his  mates. 
And  all  the  whales  in  the  world — the  sperm-whales, 


PORT    OF    MANY    SHIPS  n 

the  razor-back,  the  black-fish,  the  rorque,  the 
right,  the  forty-barrel  Jonah,  the  narwhal,  the 
hump-back,  the  grampus  and  the  thrasher — will 
come  to  him,  'fin-out,'  blowing  their  spray  to  the 
heavens.  Then  Moby  Dick  will  call  the  roll  of 
them,  and  from  all  the  parts  of  the  sea,  from  the 
north,  from  the  south,  from  Callao  to  Rio,  not  one 
whale  will  be  missing.  Then  Moby  Dick  will 
trumpet,  like  a  man  blowing  a  horn,  and  all  that 
company  of  whales  will  'sound'  (that  is,  dive),  for 
it  is  they  that  have  the  job  of  raising  the  wrecks 
from  down  below. 

"Then  when  they  come  up  the  sun  will  just  be 
setting  in  the  sea,  far  away  to  the  west,  like  a  ball 
of  red  fire.  And  just  as  the  curve  of  it  goes  below 
the  sea,  it  will  stop  sinking  and  lie  there  like  a 
door.  And  the  stars  and  the  earth  and  the  wind 
will  stop.  And  there  will  be  nothing  but  the  sea, 
and  this  red  arch  of  the  sun,  and  the  whales  with 
the  wrecks,  and  a  stream  of  light  upon  the  water. 
Each  whale  will  have  raised  a  wreck  from  among 
the  coral,  and  the  sea  will  be  thick  with  them — 
row-ships  and  sail-ships,  and  great  big  seventy- 
fours,  and  big  White  Star  boats,  and  battleships, 


12  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

all  of  them  green  with  the  ooze,  but  all  of  them 
manned  by  singing  sailors.  And  ahead  of  them 
will  go  Moby  Dick,  towing  the  ship  our  Lord  was 
in,  with  all  the  sweet  apostles  aboard  of  her.  And 
Moby  Dick  will  give  a  great  bellow,  like  a  fog-horn 
blowing,  and  stretch  'fin-out'  for  the  sun  away  in 
the  west.  And  all  the  whales  will  bellow  out  an 
answer.  And  all  the  drowned  sailors  will  sing  their 
chanties,  and  beat  the  bells  into  a  music.  And  the 
whole  fleet  of  them  will  start  towing  at  full  speed 
towards  the  sun,  at  the  edge  of  the  sky  and  water. 
I  tell  you  they  will  make  white  water,  those  ships 
and  fishes. 

"When  they  have  got  to  where  the  sun  is,  the 
red  ball  will  swing  open  like  a  door,  and  Moby 
Dick,  and  all  the  whales,  and  all  the  ships  will  rush 
through  it  into  an  anchorage  in  Kingdom  Come. 
It  will  be  a  great  calm  piece  of  water,  with  land 
close  aboard,  where  all  the  ships  of  the  world  will 
lie  at  anchor,  tier  upon  tier,  with  the  hands  gathered 
forward,  singing.  They'll  have  no  watches  to  stand, 
no  ropes  to  coil,  no  mates  to  knock  their  heads  in. 
Nothing  will  be  to  do  except  singing  and  beating 
on  the  bell.    And  all  the  poor  sailors  who  went  in 


PORT    OF   MANY   SHIPS  13 

patched  rags,  my  son,  they'll  be  all  fine  in  white 
and  gold.  And  ashore,  among  the  palm-trees,  there'll 
be  fine  inns  for  the  seamen,  where  you  and  I,  maybe, 
will  meet  again,  and  I  spin  yarns,  maybe,  with  no 
cause  to  stop  until  the  bell  goes." 


14  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 


SEA   SUPERSTITION 

One  moonlit  night  in  the  tropics,  as  my  ship  was 
slipping  south  under  all  sail,  I  was  put  to  walking 
the  deck  on  the  lee  side  of  the  poop,  with  orders  to 
watch  the  ship's  clock  and  strike  the  bell  at  each 
half-hour.  It  was  a  duty  I  had  done  nightly  for 
many  nights,  but  this  night  was  memorable  to  me. 
The  ship  was  like  a  thing  carved  of  pearl.  The 
sailors,  as  they  lay  sleeping  in  the  shadows,  were 
like  august  things  in  bronze.  And  the  skies  seemed 
so  near  me,  I  felt  as  though  we  were  sailing  under 
a  roof  of  dim  branches,  as  of  trees,  that  bore  the 
moon  and  the  stars  like  shining  fruits. 

Gradually,  however,  the  peace  in  my  heart  gave 
way  to  an  eating  melancholy,  and  I  felt  a  sadness, 
such  as  has  come  to  me  but  twice  in  my  life. 
With  the  sadness  there  came  a  horror  of  the  water 
and  of  the  skies,  till  my  presence  in  that  ship,  un- 
der the  ghastly  corpse-light  of  the  moon,   among 


SEA    SUPERSTITION  15 

that  sea,  was  a  terror  to  me  past  power  of  words 
to  tell.  I  went  to  the  ship's  rail,  and  shut  my  eyes 
for  a  moment,  and  then  opened  them  to  look  down 
upon  the  water  rushing  past.  I  had  shut  my  eyes 
upon  the  sea,  but  when  I  opened  them  I  looked 
upon  the  forms  of  the  sea-spirits.  The  water  was 
indeed  there,  hurrying  aft  as  the  ship  cut  through; 
but  in  the  bright  foam  for  far  about  the  ship  I  saw 
multitudes  of  beautiful,  inviting  faces  that  had  an 
eagerness  and  a  swiftness  in  them  unlike  the  speed 
or  the  intensity  of  human  beings.  I  remember 
thinking  that  I  had  never  seen  anything  of  such 
passionate  beauty  as  those  faces,  and  as  I  looked 
at  them  my  melancholy  fell  away  like  a  rag.  I  felt 
a  longing  to  fling  myself  over  the  rail,  so  as  to  be 
with  that  inhuman  beauty.  Yet  even  as  I  looked 
that  beauty  became  terrible,  as  the  night  had  been 
terrible  but  a  few  seconds  before.  And  with  the 
changing  of  my  emotions  the  faces  changed.  They 
became  writhelled  and  hag-like:  and  in  the  leaping 
of  the  water,  as  we  rushed,  I  saw  malevolent  white 
hands  that  plucked  and  snapped  at  me.  I  remember 
I  was  afraid  to  go  near  the  rail  again  before  the  day 
dawned. 


16  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

Not  very  long  after  that  night,  when  I  was  sit- 
ting with  a  Danish  sailor  who  was  all  broken  on 
the  wheel  of  his  vices  and  not  far  from  his  death, 
I  talked  about  the  sea-spirits  and  their  beauty  and 
their  wildness,  feeling  that  such  a  haunted  soul  as 
my  companion's  would  have  room  in  its  crannies 
for  such  wild  birds.  He  told  me  much  that  was 
horrible  about  the  ghosts  who  throng  the  seas.  And 
it  was  he  who  gave  me  the  old  myth  of  the  sea- 
gulls, telling  me  that  the  souls  of  old  sailors  fol- 
low the  sea,  in  birds'  bodies,  till  they  have  served 
their  apprenticeship  or  purged  their  years  of  peni- 
tence. He  told  me  of  two  sailors  in  a  Norway 
barque,  though  I  believe  he  lied  when  he  said  that 
he  was  aboard  her  at  the  time,  who  illustrated  his 
sermon  very  aptly.  The  barque  was  going  south 
from  San  Francisco,  bound  home  round  the  Horn, 
and  the  two  men  were  in  the  same  watch.  Some- 
how they  fell  to  quarrelling  as  to  which  was  the 
better  dancer,  and  the  one  killed  the  other  and 
flung  him  overboard  during  one  of  the  night 
watches.  The  dead  body  did  not  sink,  said  my 
friend,  because  no  body  dares  to  sink  to  the  under- 
sea during  the  night-time;  but  in  the  dawn  of  the 


SEA    SUPERSTITION  17 

next  day,  and  at  the  dawn  of  each  day  till  the 
barque  reached  Norway,  a  white  gull  flew  at  the 
slayer,  crying  the  cry  of  the  gulls.  It  was  the  dead 
man's  soul,  my  friend  said,  getting  her  revenge. 
The  slayer  gave  himself  up  on  his  arrival  at  the 
home  port,  and  took  poison  while  awaiting  trial. 

When  he  had  told  me  this  tale,  the  Dane  called 
for  a  tot  of  the  raw  spirits  of  that  land,  though  he 
must  have  known,  he  being  so  old  a  sailor,  that 
drink  was  poison  to  him.  When  he  had  swallowed 
the  liquor,  he  began  a  story  of  one  of  his  voyages 
to  the  States.  He  said  that  he  was  in  a  little 
English  ship  coming  from  New  York  to  Hamburg, 
and  that  the  ship — the  winds  being  westerly — was 
making  heavy  running,  under  upper  topsails, 
nearly  all  the  voyage.  When  he  was  at  the  wheel 
with  his  mate  (for  two  men  steered  in  the  pitch  and 
hurry  of  that  sailing)  he  was  given  to  looking 
astern  at  the  huge  comber  known  as  "the  follow- 
ing sea,"  which  topples  up,  green  and  grisly,  astern 
of  every  ship  with  the  wind  aft.  The  sight  of  that 
water  has  a  fascination  for  all  men,  and  it  fasci- 
nated him,  he  said,  till  he  thought  he  saw  in  the 
shaking  wave  the  image  of  an  old  halt  man  who 


18  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

came  limping,  bent  on  a  crutch,  in  the  ship's  wake. 
So  vivid  was  the  image  of  that  cripple,  he  leaned 
across  the  wheel-box  to  his  mate,  bidding  him  to 
look;  and  his  mate  looked,  and  immediately  went 
white  to  the  lips,  calling  to  the  saints  to  preserve 
him.  My  friend  then  told  me  that  the  cripple  only 
appears  to  ships  foredoomed  to  shipwreck,  "And," 
he  said,  "we  were  run  down  in  the  Channel  and 
sunk  in  ten  minutes"  by  a  clumsy  tramp  from 
London. 

After  a  while  I  left  that  country  in  a  steamer 
whose  sailors  were  of  nearly  every  nation  under 
the  sun,  and  from  a  Portuguese  aboard  her  I  got 
another  yarn.  In  the  night  watches,  when  I  was 
alone  on  the  poop,  I  used  to  lean  on  the  taffrail  to 
see  the  water  reeling  away  from  the  screws. 
While  loafing  in  this  way  one  night,  a  little  while 
before  the  dawn,  I  was  joined  by  the  Portuguese, 
an  elderly,  wizened  fellow,  who  wore  earrings. 
He  said  he  had  often  seen  me  leaning  over  the 
taffrail,  and  had  come  to  warn  me  that  there  was 
danger  in  looking  upon  the  sea  in  that  way.  Men 
who  looked  into  the  water,  he  told  me,  would  at 
first  see  only  the  bubbles,  and  the  eddies,  and  the 


SEA   SUPERSTITION  19 

foam.  Then  they  would  see  dim  pictures  of  them- 
selves and  of  the  ship.  But  at  the  last  they  always 
saw  some  unholy  thing,  and  the  unholy  thing  would 
lure  them  away  to  death.  And  it  was  a  danger,  he 
said,  no  young  man  should  face,  for  though  the 
other  evil  spirits,  those  of  the  earth  and  air,  had 
power  only  upon  the  body,  the  evil  spirits  of  the 
sea  were  deadly  to  the  soul.  There  was  a  lad  he 
had  known  in  Lisbon  who  had  gone  along  the  coast 
in  a  brig,  and  this  lad  was  always  looking  into  the 
sea,  and  had  at  last  seen  the  unholy  things  and 
flung  his  body  to  them  across  the  rail.  The  brig 
was  too  near  the  coast,  and  it  blew  too  freshly  in- 
shore, for  the  sailors  to  round-to  to  pick  him  up. 
But  they  found  the  lad  in  Lisbon  when  they  got 
home.  He  said  he  had  sunken  down  into  the  sea, 
till  the  sea  opened  about  him  and  showed  him  a 
path  among  a  field  of  green  corn.  He  had  gone  up 
the  path  and  come  at  last  to  a  beautiful  woman, 
surrounded  by  many  beautiful  women,  but  the  one 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  queen.  She  was  so  beauti- 
ful, he  said,  the  sight  of  her  was  like  strong  wine; 
but  she  shook  her  head  when  she  saw  him,  as 
though  she  could   never   give  him   her  love,   and 


20  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

immediately  he  was  at  the  surface,  under  the  skies, 
struggling  towards  some  rocks  a  little  distance 
from  him.  He  reached  the  shore  and  went  home 
to  Lisbon  in  a  fisher-boat,  but  he  was  never  quite 
sane  after  seeing  that  beauty  beneath  the  sea.  He 
became  very  melancholy,  and  used  to  go  down  the 
Tagus  in  a  row-boat,  singing  to  himself  and  look- 
ing down  into  the  water. 

Before  I  left  that  ship  I  had  to  help  clean  her  for 
her  decent  entry  to  the  Mersey.  I  spent  one  after- 
noon with  an  old  man  from  the  Clyde  doing  up 
some  ironwork,  first  with  rope  yarn  and  paraffin, 
then  with  red  lead.  The  mate  left  us  to  ourselves 
all  the  watch,  because  the  old  man  was  trusty,  and 
we  had  a  fine  yarn  together  about  the  things  of  the 
sea.  He  said  that  there  were  some  who  believed 
in  the  white  whale,  though  it  was  all  folly  their 
calling  him  the  king  of  all  the  fishes.  The  white 
whale  was  nothing  but  a  servant,  and  lay  low, 
''somewhere  nigh  the  Poles/'  till  the  last  day 
dawned.  And  then,  said  the  old  man,  "he's  a 
busy  man  raising  the  wrecks."  When  I  asked  him 
who  was  the  king  of  all  the  fishes,  he  looked  about 
to  see  that  there  were  no  listeners,  and  said,  in  a 


SEA    SUPERSTITION  21 

very  earnest  voice,  that  the  king  of  the  fish  was  the 
sea-serpent.  He  lies  coiled,  said  the  old  man,  in 
the  hot  waters  of  the  Gulf,  with  a  gold  crown  on 
his  head,  and  a  "great  sleep  upon  him,"  waiting 
till  the  setting  of  the  last  sun.  "And  then?"  I 
asked.  "Ah,  then,"  he  answered,  "there'll  be  fine 
times  going  for  us  sailors." 


22  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  clipper  ship  called 
the  Mary,  and  she  was  lying  in  Panama  waiting 
for  a  freight.  It  was  hot,  and  it  was  calm,  and  it 
was  hazy,  and  the  men  aboard  her  were  dead  sick 
of  the  sight  of  her.  They  had  been  lying  there 
all  the  summer,  having  nothing  to  do  but  to  wash 
her  down,  and  scrape  the  royal  masts  with  glass, 
and  make  the  chain  cables  bright.  And  aboard  of 
her  was  a  big  A.B.  from  Liverpool,  with  a  tattooed 
chest  on  him  and  an  arm  like  a  spar.  And  this 
man's  name  was  Bill. 

"Now,  one  day,  while  the  captain  of  this  clipper 
was  sunning  in  the  club,  there  came  a  merchant 
to  him  offering  him  a  fine  freight  home  and  'des- 
patch' in  loading.  So  the  old  man  went  aboard 
that  evening  in  a  merry  temper,  and  bade  the 
mates  rastle  the  hands  aft.  He  told  them  that 
they   could    go    ashore    the    next    morning    for    a 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN  23 

'liberty-day'  of  four-and-twenty  hours,  with  twenty 
dollars  pay  to  blue,  and  no  questions  asked  if  they 
came  aboard  drunk.  So  forward  goes  all  hands 
merrily,  to  rout  out  their  go-ashore  things,  their 
red  handkerchiefs,  and  'sombre-airers,'  for  to  as- 
tonish the  Dons.  And  ashore  they  goes  the  next 
morning,  after  breakfast,  with  their  silver  dollars 
in  their  fists,  and  the  jolly-boat  to  take  them.  And 
ashore  they  steps,  and  'So  long*  they  says  to  the 
young  fellows  in  the  boat,  and  so  up  the  Mole  to 
the  beautiful  town  of  Panama. 

"Now  the  next  morning  that  fellow  Bill  I  told 
you  of  was  tacking  down  the  city  to  the  boat,  sing- 
ing some  song  or  another.  And  when  he  got  near 
to  the  jetty  he  went  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for 
his  pipe,  and  what  should  he  find  but  a  silver  dol- 
lar that  had  slipped  away  and  been  saved.  So  he 
thinks,  'If  I  go  aboard  with  this  dollar,  why  the 
hands'll  laugh  at  me;  besides,  it's  a  wasting  of  it 
not  to  spend  it.'  So  he  cast  about  for  some  place 
where  he  could  blue  it  in. 

"Now  close  by  where  he  stood  there  was  a  sort 
of  a  great  store,  kept  by  a  Johnny  Dago.  And  if 
I  were  to  tell  you  of  the  things  they  had  in  it,  I 


24  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

would  need  nine  tongues  and  an  oiled  hinge  to 
each  of  them.  But  Billy  "walked  into  this  store, 
into  the  space  inside,  into  like  the  'tween  decks, 
for  to  have  a  look  about  him  before  buying.  And 
there  were  great  bunches  of  bananas  a-ripening 
against  the  wall.  And  sacks  of  dried  raisins,  and 
bags  of  dried  figs,  and  melon  seeds,  and  pome- 
granates enough  to  sink  you.  Then  there  were 
cotton  bales,  and  calico,  and  silk  of  Persia.  And 
rum  in  puncheons,  and  bottled  ale.  And  all  man- 
ner of  sweets,  and  a  power  of  a  lot  of  chemicals. 
And  anchors  gone  rusty,  fished  up  from  the  bay 
after  the  ships  were  gone.  And  spare  cables,  all 
ranged  for  letting  go.  And  ropes,  and  sails,  and 
balls  of  marline  stuff.  Then  there  was  blocks  of 
all  kinds,  wood  and  iron.  Dunnage  there  was,  and 
scantling,  likewise  sea-chests  with  pictures  on  them. 
And  casks  of  beef  and  pork,  and  paint,  and  peas, 
and  peterolium.  But  for  not  one  of  these  things 
did  Billy  care  a  handful  of  bilge. 

"Then  there  were  medical  comforts,  such  as 
ginger  and  calavances.  And  plug  tobacco,  and  coil 
tobacco,  and  tobacco  leaf,  and  tobacco  clippings. 
And  such  a  power  of  a  lot  of  bulls'  hides  as  you 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN  25 

never  saw.  Likewise  there  was  tinned  things  like 
cocoa,  and  boxed  things  like  China  tea.  And 
any  quantity  of  blankets,  and  rugs,  and  don- 
keys' breakfasts.  And  oilskins  there  was,  and 
rubber  sea-boots,  and  shore  shoes,  and  Crimee 
shirts.  Also  Dungarees,  and  soap,  and  matches, 
so  many  as  you  never  heard  tell.  But  no,  not 
for  one  of  these  things  was  Bill  going  for  to 
bargain. 

"Then  there  were  lamps  and  candles,  and 
knives  and  nutmeg-graters,  and  things  made  of 
bright  tin  and  saucers  of  red  clay;  and  rolls  of 
coloured  cloth,  made  in  the  hills  by  the  Indians. 
Bowls  there  were,  painted  with  twisty-whirls  by 
the  folk  of  old  time.  And  flutes  from  the  tombs 
(of  the  Incas),  and  whistles  that  looked  like  flower- 
pots. Also  fiddles  and  beautiful  melodeons.  Then 
there  were  paper  roses  for  ornament,  and  false 
white  flowers  for  graves;  also  paint-brushes  and 
coir-brooms.  There  were  cages  full  of  parrots, 
both  green  and  grey;  and  white  cockatoos  on 
perches  a-nodding  their  red  crests;  and  Java  love- 
birds a-billing,  and  parrakeets  a-screaming,  and 
little  kittens  for  the  ships  with  rats.     And  at  the 


26  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

last  of  all  there  was  a  little  monkey,  chained 
to  a  sack  of  jib-hanks,  who  sat  upon  his  tail  a-grin- 
ning. 

"Now  Bill  he  sees  this  monkey,  and  he  thinks  he 
never  see  a  cuter  little  beast,  not  never.  And  then 
he  thinks  of  something,  and  he  pipes  up  to  the 
old  Johnny  Dago,  and  he  says,  pointing  to  the 
monkey : 

"  'Hey-a  Johnny!  How  much-a-take-a  little 
munk?' 

"So  the  old  Johnny  Dago  looks  at  Bill  a  spell, 
and  then  says: 

"  'I  take-a  five-a  doll'  that-a  little  munk.' 

"So  Billy  planks  down  his  silver  dollar,  and 
says: 

"  'I  give-a  one  doll',  you  cross-eyed  Dago/ 

"Then  the  old  man  unchained  the  monkey,  and 
handed  him  to  Bill  without  another  word.  And 
away  the  pair  of  them  went,  down  the  Mole  to 
where  the  boats  lay,  where  a  lanchero  took  them  off 
to  the  Mary. 

"Now  when  they  got  aboard  all  hands  came 
around  Bill,  saying:  'Why,  Bill,  whatever  are 
you  going  to  do  with  that  there  little  monkey?' 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN  27 

And  Bill  he  said:  'You  shut  your  heads  about 
that  there  little  monkey.  I'm  going  to  teach  that 
little  monkey  how  to  speak.  And  when  he  can 
speak  I'm  going  to  sell  him  to  a  museum.  And 
then  I'll  buy  a  farm.  I  won't  come  to  sea  any 
more/  So  they  just  laugh  at  Bill,  and  by  and  by 
the  Mary  loaded,  and  got  her  hatches  on,  and 
sailed  south-away,  on  the  road  home  to  Liverpool. 

"Well,  every  evening,  in  the  dog-watch,  after 
supper,  while  the  decks  were  drying  from  the 
washing-down,  Bill  used  to  take  the  monkey  on 
to  the  fo'c's'le  head,  and  set  him  on  the  capstan. 
'Well,  ye  little  divvle,'  he  used  to  say,  'will  ye 
speak?  Are  ye  going  to  speak,  hey?'  and  the 
monkey  would  just  grin  and  chatter  back  at  Billy, 
but  never  no  Christian  speech  came  in  front  of 
them  teeth  of  his.  And  this  game  went  on  until 
they  were  up  with  the  Horn,  in  bitter  cold  weather, 
running  east  like  a  stag,  with  a  great  sea  piling 
up  astern.  And  then  one  night,  at  eight  bells,  Billy 
came  on  deck  for  the  first  watch,  bringing  the 
monkey  with  him.  It  was  blowing  like  sin,  stiff 
and  cold,  and  the  Mary  was  butting  through,  and 
dipping   her    fo'c's'le    under.      So    Bill    takes    the 


28  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

monkey,  and  lashes  him  down  good  and  snug  on 
the  drum  of  the  capstan,  on  the  fo'c's'le  head. 
'Now,  you  little  divvle,'  he  said,  'will  you  speak? 
Will  you  speak,  eh?'  But  the  monkey  just  grinned 
at  him. 

"At  the  end  of  the  first  hour  he  came  again. 
'Are  ye  going  to  speak,  ye  little  beggar?'  he  says, 
and  the  monkey  sits  and  shivers,  but  never  a 
word  does  the  little  beggar  say.  And  it  was  the 
same  at  four  bells,  when  the  look-out  man  was 
relieved.  But  at  six  bells  Billy  came  again,  and 
the  monkey  looked  mighty  cold,  and  it  was  a  wet 
perch  where  he  was  roosting,  and  his  teeth  chat- 
tered; yet  he  didn't  speak,  not  so  much  as  a  cat. 
So  just  before  eight  bells,  when  the  watch  was 
nearly  out,  Billy  went  forward  for  the  last  time. 
'If  he  don't  speak  now,'  says  Billy,  'overboard  he 
goes  for  a  dumb  animal.' 

"Well,  the  cold  green  seas  had  pretty  nearly 
drowned  that  little  monkey.  And  the  sprays  had 
frozen  him  over  like  a  jacket  of  ice,  and  right  blue 
his  lips  were,  and  an  icicle  was  a-danglin~  from 
his  chin,  and  he  was  shivering  like  he  had  an  ague. 
'Well,  ye  little  divvle,'  says  Billy,  'for  the  last  time, 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN  29 

will  ye  speak?  Are  ye  going  to  speak,  hey?'  And 
the  monkey  spoke.  'Speak  is  it?  Speak  is  it?'  he 
says.  'It's  so  cold  it's  enough  to  make  a  little  fel- 
low swear.' 

"It's  the  solemn  gospel  truth  that  story  is." 


30  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 


THE   YARN   OF   LANKY  JOB 

Lanky  Job  was  a  lazy  Bristol  sailor,  notorious  for 
his  sleepiness  throughout  the  seven  seas.  And 
though  many  captains  had  taken  him  in  hand,  none 
had  ever  made  him  spryer,  or  got  more  than  a 
snail's  work  out  of  him.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
been  more  wakeful  had  he  not  been  born  with  a 
caul,  which  preserved  him  at  sea  from  any  danger 
of  drowning.  Often  he  had  fallen  from  aloft  or 
from  the  forecastle  rail  while  dreaming  during  his 
work  or  look-out.  But  his  captains  had  always 
paused  to  pick  him  up,  and  to  all  his  captains  he 
had  made  a  graceful  speech  of  thanks  which  ended 
with  a  snore  at  the  ninth  or  tenth  word. 

One  day  he  was  lolling  on  a  bollard  on  the  quay 
at  Bristol  as  fast  asleep  as  man  could  wish.  He 
had  fallen  asleep  in  the  forenoon,  but  when  he  woke 
the  sun  was  setting,  and  right  in  front  of  him, 
moored  to  the  quay,  was  the  most  marvellous  ship 


THE   YARN   OF   LANKY  JOB  31 

that  ever  went  through  water.  She  was  bluff- 
bowed  and  squat,  with  a  great  castle  in  her  bows 
and  five  poops,  no  less,  one  above  the  other,  at 
her  starn.  And  outside  her  bulwarks  there  were 
painted  screens,  all  scarlet  and  blue  and  green, 
with  ships  painted  on  them,  and  burning  birds  and 
ladies  in  cloth  of  gold.  And  then  above  them 
were  rows  of  hammocks  covered  with  a  white  piece 
of  linen.  And  every  little  poop  had  a  rail.  And 
her  buckets  were  green,  and  in  every  bucket  there 
were  roses  growing.  And  the  masts  were  of 
ebony  with  mast-rings  of  silver.  And  her  decks 
were  all  done  in  parquet-work  in  green  and  white 
woods,  and  the  man  who  did  the  caulking  had 
caulked  the  deck-seams  with  red  tar,  for  he  was  a 
master  of  his  trade.  And  the  cabins  was  all  glorious 
to  behold  with  carving,  and  sweet  to  smell,  like 
oranges.  And  right  astern  she  carried  a  great  gold 
lantern  with  a  big  blue  banner  underneath  it,  and 
an  ivory  staff  to  the  whole,  all  carved  by  a  China- 
man. 

So  Job  looks  at  the  ship,  and  he  thinks  he  never 
see  a  finer,  so  he  ups  alongside,  and  along  a  gang- 
way, and  there  he  sees  a  little  sea  captain  with  a 


32  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

big  red  hat  and  feather,  and  a  silver  whistle  to  him, 
walking  on  the  quarter-deck. 

"Good  morning,  Job,"  says  the  little  sea  captain, 
"and  how  dy'ye  like  my  ship  ?" 

"Sir,"  says  Job,  "I  never  see  a  finer." 

So  the  little  sea  captain  takes  Job  forrard  and 
gives  him  a  bite  in  the  forecastle,  and  then  takes 
him  aft  and  gives  him  a  sup  in  the  cabin. 

"And  Job,"  he  says,  "how  would  ye  like  to  sail 
aboard  this  beautiful  ship  ?" 

So  Job,  who  was  all  wide  awake  with  the  beauty 
of  her,  he  says : 

"Oh,  sir,  I'd  like  it  of  all  things;  she  be  so  comely 
to  see." 

And  immediately  he  said  that,  Job  see  the  little 
captain  pipe  his  whistle,  and  a  lot  of  little  sailors  in 
red  hats  ran  up  and  cast  her  hawsers  off.  And  then 
the  sheets  sheeted  home  of  themselves  and  the  ship 
swung  away  from  Bristol,  and  there  was  Job  nod- 
ding on  the  quarter-deck,  a  mile  out  to  sea,  the  ship 
running  west  like  a  deer. 

"You'll  be  in  the  port  watch,"  said  the  little  cap- 
tain to  him,  "and  woe  betide  you,  Lanky  Job,  if  we 
catch  you  asleep  in  your  watch." 


THE   YARN    OF   LANKY   JOB  33 

Now  Job  never  knowed  much  about  that  trip  of 
his  among  them  little  men  in  red  hats,  but  he 
knowed  he  slept  once,  and  they  stuck  needles  in 
him.  And  he  knowed  he  slept  twice,  and  they 
stuck  hot  pokers  in  him.  And  he  knowed  he  slept 
a  third  time,  and  "Woe  betide  you,  Lanky  Job," 
they  said,  and  they  set  him  on  the  bowsprit  end, 
with  bread  in  one  hand  and  a  sup  of  water  in  the 
other.  "And  stay  you  there,  Lanky  Job,"  they  said, 
"till  you  drop  into  the  sea  and  drown." 

Now  pitiful  was  his  case  truly,  for  if  he  looked 
behind  there  was  little  red  men  to  prick  him,  and 
if  he  looked  before  he  got  giddy,  and  if  he  looked 
down  he  got  sick,  and  if  he  looked  up  he  got  daz- 
zled. So  he  looked  all  four  ways  and  closed  his 
eyes,  and  down  he  toppled  from  his  perch,  going 
splash  into  the  wash  below  the  bows.  "And  now 
for  a  sleep,"  he  says,  "since  there's  no  water  wet 
enough  to  drown  me."  And  asleep  he  falls,  and 
long  does  he  drift  in  the  sea. 

Now,  by  and  by,  when  he  had  floated  for  quite 
a  while,  he  sees  a  big  ship,  black  as  pitch,  with 
heavy  red  sails,  come  sailing  past  him  in  the  dawn. 
And    although    he    had    a    caul    and    couldn't    be 


34  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

drowned,  he  was  glad  enough  to  see  that  ship,  and 
right  glad  indeed  to  clutch  her  braces  as  she  rolled. 
She  came  swooping  down  on  him,  and  he 
caught  her  main  brace  as  she  lay  down  to  leeward 
from  a  gust.  And  with  her  windward  roll  and  a 
great  heave,  he  just  managed  to  reach  her  deck 
before  he  fell  asleep  again.  He  noticed  as  he 
scrambled  up  the  side  that  she  was  heavily 
barnacled,  and  that  she  had  forty  boats  to  a  broad- 
side, all  swinging  on  ivory  davits. 

But  when  he  woke  from  his  sleep,  lo  and  behold, 
the  ship  was  manned  by  nothing  but  great  rats, 
and  they  were  all  in  blue  clothes  like  sailors,  and 
snarling  as  they  swung  the  yards.  And  as  soon  as 
they  saw  Lanky  Job  they  came  around  him,  gnash- 
ing their  long  yellow  teeth  and  twirling  their  hairy 
whiskers.  And  the  multitude  of  them  was  beyond 
speech,  and  at  every  moment  it  seemed  to  Job  that 
a  boat  came  alongside  with  more  of  them,  till  the 
decks  were  ropy  with  their  tails.  Six  or  seven  of 
them  seized  hold  of  him  and  dragged  him  aft  to 
where  a  big  bone  tiller  swung,  with  a  helmsman  on 
each  side  of  it,  seated  in  heavy  golden  chairs.  These 
helmsmen  were  half  men,  half  rats,  and  they  were 


THE   YARN    OF   LANKY   JOB  35 

hairy  like  rats,  and  grey  like  rats,  and  they  had  rats' 
eyes.  But  they  had  the  minds  of  men,  and  they 
were  the  captains  of  tKat  hooker,  and  right  grim 
they  were  to  look  at.  Now  when  he  sees  those 
grim  things  sitting  there,  Job  knew  that  he'd  come 
aboard  the  rat  flag-ship,  whose  boats  row  every  sea, 
picking  up  the  rats  as  they  leave  ships  going  to 
sink.  And  he  gave  a  great  scream  and  punched  out 
at  the  gang  who  held  him,  and  over  the  side  he 
bounded.  And  he  drifted  a  day  and  a  night,  till  the 
salt-cracks  were  all  over  his  body,  and  he  came 
ashore  half  dead  at  Avonmouth,  having  been  a  week 
away.  But  always  after  that  Lanky  Job  was  a  spry 
sailor,  as  smart  as  you  could  find  anywheres. 


36  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 


FROM   THE    SPANISH 

The  galleon  Spanish  Rose  was  built  in  Saint  Mary 
of  the  Bells  by  the  Lord  Alva  of  Meroquinez.  He 
built  her  for  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  court,  whom 
he  loved  in  a  stately  manner,  that  was  ceremonious, 
like  the  worship  of  a  relic.  Being  a  rich  man  he 
built  her  of  costly  things,  of  cedarwood  from  the 
East,  of  India  rosewood,  so  that  each  plank  of 
her  was  sweet  to  smell.  Her  fastenings  were  of 
wrought  silver,  curiously  beaten.  The  streets  of 
the  silver  workers  rang  noisily  for  a  twelvemonth 
over  the  lovely  hammering  of  them.  Her  decks 
were  beautifully  inlaid  by  the  parquetters  of  Verona, 
who  made  in  them  delicate  patterns  of  coloured 
woods  more  brilliant  than  the  seaweeds.  The  fig- 
ure-head, carved  in  a  hard  wood,  was  the  work  of 
that  artist  who  carved  the  Madonna  in  St.  James's 
Church  at  Seville.  It  was  a  design  of  the  Rosa 
Dei,  bursting  her  golden  petals  that  the  cross  might 


FROM    THE   SPANISH  37 

show,  a  rare  piece,  sweetly  wrought ;  the  folk  came 
far  to  see  it.  Her  sails  were  of  a  fine  bleached 
canvas,  edged  with  red  Cordoba  leather.  They 
bore  a  wreathed  intricacy  of  roses,  embroidered  in 
crimson  or  yellow  silk  by  the  ladies  of  Meroquinez. 
The  roping  was  of  that  precious  hemp  which  grows 
only  on  the  Sacred  Hill  (in  Igorroti,  in  Luzon),  so 
that  an  ell  of  it  was  worth  a  Florence  crown  by  the 
time  it  reached  the  Spanish  riggers'  hands.  Her 
high  stern,  that  was  built  in  three  decks,  had 
painted  bulwarks,  each  of  which  bore  some  painted 
history  of  the  sea,  each  history  by  some  Italian. 

There  one  might  see  Ulysses,  in  his  red-beaked 
galley,  as  he  rowed  past  those  piping  trulls  the 
sirens.  There  was  the  barge  of  Antony,  hung  with 
purple,  taking  the  Egyptian  beauty  along  Nilus. 
There  was  Saint  Brandan  Bright  Hair,  in  his 
curragh  of  holy  wood,  with  his  singing  monks 
about  him.  There  was  the  fishing-boat  of  Peter, 
that  was  long  worshipped  by  the  Galileans  when 
the  spring  fisheries  were  in  hand.  There  was  the 
Genoan  in  his  bark,  his  yellow  banner  blowing  out 
bravely.  There  was  Arion  at  his  luting.  There 
were   the   strange   sailors   of   Atlantis,    the   seven 


38  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

brothers  that  loved  the  merrows  of  the  sea,  as  the 
Arabian  poet  has  set  down.  Also  there  was  painted 
lively  the  great  Flood,  with  green  waves  running 
fiercely,  tossing  the  Ark  skyward.  Opposite  thereto 
was  a  table  of  the  Last  Day,  the  sea  stilled,  with 
drowned  mariners,  made  glorious,  ascending  in 
triumph  to  the  harping  of  sainted  hosts.  Within 
her,  in  her  cabins,  she  was  wrought  with  more 
beautiful  things.  For  in  the  decks  of  the  cabins 
were  roses,  worked  in  parquetry  of  scarlet  logwood, 
with  green  leaves,  in  stained  fir,  surrounding  the 
heavy  blossoms.  The  bulkheads  were  of  precious 
wood,  carven  in  pilasters  that  had  gilded  roses  at 
their  tops.  There  was  a  painting  on  each  cabin 
wall,  of  Elizabeth  with  her  roses,  of  Mary  in  the 
flowered  field,  or  of  those  other  hallows  that  have 
the  rose  as  their  symbol.  The  doorways  were  hung 
with  blue  arras  of  Persia,  or  with  grey  tapestry, 
splendid  with  purple  peacocks,  from  the  nuns'  looms 
at  Ephrata.  Each  cabin  was  lit  with  a  silver  lamp, 
that  swung  in  gimbals  above  a  mirror.  In  every 
cabin  was  a  silver  crucifix,  above  an  old  censer  of 
flowered  copper,  studded  with  jewels,  which  sent 
up  scented  smoke  at  every  canonical  hour.     The 


FROM   THE   SPANISH  39 

cabin  beams  were  painted  in  designs  of  flowers, 
but  always  of  red  or  crimson  flowers,  such  as  the 
rose  or  poppy,  to  symbolize  love  in  her  activity  or 
weakness.  Inlaid  upon  certain  parts  of  the  walls, 
such  as  those  at  the  carved  bed's  head,  were  curious 
transcripts  from  Holy  Writ,  in  praise  of  love,  or 
verses  of  the  amorous  poets,  such  as  Ovid  or 
Petrarch.  In  each  cabin  was  a  cabinet,  like  a 
reliquary  for  richness,  containing  the  precious 
books  of  love,  written  upon  vellum,  in  coloured 
inks,  by  fine  penmen  to  whom  art  was  a  religion. 
There  might  you  see  Messer  Dante,  or  some  rare 
scroll  sealed  in  red  wax,  written  in  Greek,  with  the 
tale  of  Psyche.  These  books  were  bound  in  a  green 
leather,  to  signify  their  immortality,  while  on  the 
cover  of  each  book  some  jeweller  had  fashioned  a 
rose  in  tiny  rubies,  that  typified  the  love  of  the 
saints. 

Now  about  the  decks  of  this  wondrous  galleon 
were  stands  of  curious  armour,  all  scrupulously 
bright.  At  her  ports,  which  had  every  one  a  wreath 
of  painted  roses  round  it,  were  cannon  of  polished 
brass  that  shone  like  gold.  Above  these  were  the 
close  fights,  or  strips  of  canvas,  running  the  length 


40  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

of  the  deck,  all  curiously  painted  with  the  Lord 
Alva's  arms,  in  a  design  of  coloured  shields  that 
showed  the  blazonings  of  his  family.  The  mariners 
were  all  Spaniards  from  Boca  Gara,  the  little  port 
of  Meroquinez  fronting  the  Atlantic.  The  soldiers 
were  but  few  in  number,  some  twenty  swords  from 
Estremadura,  who  had  been  in  the  Indies  under 
Oviedo.  They  wore  bright  armour  inlaid  with  gold. 
In  their  helmets  they  wore  jewels,  or  gloves,  or 
feathers,  that  were  the  gifts  of  ladies  whom  they 
had  served.  Their  sword-belts  were  of  green 
leather,  in  token  of  hope.  Their  swords  had,  every 
blade  of  them,  drawn  blood  in  the  defence  of 
beauty.  If  I  had  the  pens  of  twenty  poets  I  might 
not  tell  the  glory  of  the  stately  life  they  lived,  on 
board  the  Spanish  Rose,  the  ship  built  for  the 
Lord  Alva's  lady.  For,  in  lieu  of  the  exercises 
common  to  soldiers  or  shipmen,  they  would  gather 
about  the  mast  to  hear  some  pleasant  singing  in 
praise  of  love  by  one  of  the  Provencal  poets,  of 
whom  the  ship  carried  nine.  Or  the  lutenists  would 
take  their  viols,  playing  some  sweet  music  that  for 
its  beauty  was  like  a  woman's  hair.  In  the  twilights, 
at  Boca  Gara,  while  the  ship  was  fitting  for  the  sea, 


FROM   THE   SPANISH  41 

those  on  board  of  her  would  gather  at  the  mast, 
with  their  censers,  to  sing  their  vespers,  at  the  first 
rising  of  the  evening  star. 

At  night,  when  the  moon  was  up,  some  of  the 
mariners,  coming  from  the  mysterious  darkness  in 
the  bows,  would  light  the  lantern  on  the  poop,  a 
lantern  shaped  like  a  rose.  The  glass  of  it  was 
stained  crimson,  so  that  when  lit  it  burned  like  a 
red  rose  through  the  darkness,  a  sight  passing  a 
rose  in  beauty.  All  of  these  amorous  subtleties,  all 
of  this  extravagance  of  beauty,  was  for  the  Lady 
Alathe  of  Ayamonte,  the  woman  whom  Lord  Alva 
loved.  He  had  courted  her  during  the  months 
while  the  ship  was  being  fitted  for  the  sea;  for  he 
had  vowed  to  bring  his  bride  home  to  Meroquinez, 
by  water,  in  a  ship  fitting  her  birth.  When  the 
Spanish  Rose  was  ready,  her  crew  on  board,  her 
bows  blessed  by  the  priests,  she  sailed  out  from 
Boca  Gara  to  a  noise  of  singing  that  mingled  with 
the  bells  of  St.  Mary's  Church.  She  reached  Aya- 
monte after  three  weeks'  sailing  along  the  coast, 
anchoring  one  sunny  afternoon  beneath  the  blos- 
somed orange  groves  which  scent  the  houses  of 
the  port.     He  was  married  the  next  day  at  the 


42  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

cathedral,  while  all  the  bells  in  the  town  rang  as 
they  ring  at  Easter,  in  exultation.  After  a  solemn 
leave-taking  he  set  sail  again  (his  bride  with  him) 
for  his  home  at  St.  Mary  of  the  Bells. 

There  are  nine  rocks,  submerged  at  high  water, 
about  a  league  to  the  south-east  of  Ayamonte 
Harbour.  They  go  by  the  name  of  the  Nine 
Drowned  Maidens.  They  are  a  menace  to  shipping, 
but  latterly  they  have  been  marked  by  a  lighthouse. 
It  is  thought  that  the  Lord  Alva's  pilot  had  been 
made  merry  with  Greek  wine  (though  some  say 
the  ill-steering  was  done  by  a  knight  of  the  bride's 
company,  who  loved  the  lady  too  well  to  suffer  her 
to  belong  to  another).  At  any  rate  the  Spanish 
Rose  struck  upon  the  rocks  during  the  noontime, 
when  her  gay  complement,  so  like  a  bed  of  tulips 
for  brilliant  colour,  were  drinking  to  the  lady's 
health.  She  sank  in  less  than  a  minute,  in  deep, 
calm  blue  water,  with  all  her  company  on  board. 
All  that  was  saved  of  her  was  an  Italian  lute, 
strung  with  gay,  silk  ribbons,  which  floated  ashore 
the  next  day. 

Less  than  ten  years  ago,  when  the  Ayamonte 
folk  were  laying  the  foundations  for  their  light- 


FROM   THE   SPANISH  43 

house,  a  diver  came  upon  some  weeded  wreck  of 
her,  fairly  well  preserved,  lying  on  the  sand,  with  a 
sort  of  grey  silt  spreading  over  her  like  a  cloak. 
He  recovered  a  few  relics  from  her,  such  as  bits  of 
timber,  brass  nails,  or  rusty  ironwork,  which  may 
be  seen  at  the  town  museum  to  this  day.  The 
scheme  for  raising  her  fell  through  for  lack  of 
funds,  but  it  may  be  that  some  American  million- 
aire, greedy  of  dollars,  will  form  a  company  to 
strip  the  wreck.  Perhaps  some  poor  Spanish  diver, 
thrusting  through  into  her  central-cabin,  will  then 
come  across  the  bones  of  those  great  lovers,  in  the 
perished  magnificence  of  their  bridal  banquet,  their 
bony  hands  still  clutching  the  cups,  their  whitened 
fingers  still  splendid  with  the  wedding  rings. 


A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 


THE    SEAL   MAN 

"The  seals  is  pretty  when  they  do  be  playing," 
said  the  old  woman.  "Ah,  I  seen  them  frisking 
their  tails  till  you'd  think  it  was  rocks  with  the 
seas  beating  on  them,  the  time  the  storm's  on.  I 
seen  the  merrows  of  the  sea  sitting  yonder  on  the 
dark  stone,  and  they  had  crowns  on  them,  and 
they  were  laughing.  The  merrows  is  not  good; 
it's  not  good  to  see  too  many  of  them.  They  are 
beautiful  like  young  men  in  their  shirts  playing  hur- 
ley. They're  as  beautiful  as  anything  you  would  be 
seeing  in  Amerikey  or  Australeyey,  or  any  place. 
The  seals  is  beautiful  too,  going  through  the  water 
in  the  young  of  the  day;  but  they're  not  so  beauti- 
ful as  them.  The  seals  is  no  good  either.  It's  a 
great  curse  keeps  them  the  way  they  are,  not  able  to 
live  either  in  the  sea  or  on  the  land. 

"One  time  there  was  a  man  of  the  O'Donnells 
came  here,  and  he  was  a  bad  man.     A  saint  in 


THE   SEAL   MAN  45 

Heaven  would  have  been  bothered  to  find  good  in 
him.  He  died  of  the  fever  that  came  before  the 
Famine.  I  was  a  girl  then;  and  if  you'd  seen  the 
people  in  them  times;  there  wasn't  enough  to  bury 
them.  The  pigs  used  to  eat  them  in  the  loanings. 
And  their  mouths  would  be  all  green  where  they'd 
eaten  grass  from  want  of  food.  If  you'd  seen  the 
houses  there  was  then,  indeed,  you'd  think  the 
place  bewitched.  But  the  cabins  is  all  fell  in,  like 
yonder,  and  there's  no  dancing  or  fiddling,  or  any- 
thing at  all,  and  all  of  my  friends  is  gone  to  Ameri- 
key  or  Australeyey;  I've  no  one  at  all  to  bury  me, 
unless  it's  that  humpy  one  who  comes  here,  and  she's 
as  proud  as  a  Jew.  She's  no  cause  to  be  proud, 
with  a  hump  on  her;  her  father  was  just  a  poor 
man,  the  same  as  any. 

"This  O'Donnell  I  was  telling  you.  My  father 
was  at  his  wake.  And  they'd  the  candles  lit,  and 
they  were  drinking  putcheen.  My  father  was 
nearest  the  door,  and  a  fear  took  him,  and  he  got 
up,  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  and  he  cried  out: 
'There's  something  here  is  not  good.*  And  another 
of  them  said:  'There's  something  wants  to  get 
out.'    And  another  said:    'It's  himself  wants  to  go 


46  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

out  into  the  dark  night.'  And  another  said:  Tor 
the  love  of  God,  open  the  door.'  So  my  father 
flung  the  door  open;  and,  outside,  the  moon  shone 
down  to  the  sea.  And  the  corpse  of  the  O'Donnell 
was  all  blue,  and  it  got  up  with  the  sheet  knotted 
on  it,  and  walked  out  without  leaving  a  track.  So 
they  followed  it,  saying  their  prayers  to  Almighty 
God,  and  it  walked  on  down  to  the  sea.  And  when 
it  came  to  the  edge  of  the  sea,  the  sea  was  like  a 
flame  before  it.  And  it  bowed  there,  three  times; 
and  each  time  it  rose  up  it  screamed.  And  all  the 
seals,  and  all  the  mcrrows,  and  all  them  that's 
under  the  tides,  they  came  up  to  welcome  it.  They 
called  out  to  the  corpse  and  laughed ;  and  the  corpse 
laughed  back,  and  fell  on  to  the  sand.  My  fa- 
ther and  the  other  men  saw  the  wraith  pass  from 
it,  into  the  water,  as  it  fell.  It  was  like  a  little 
black  boy,  laughing,  with  great  long  arms  on  him. 
It  was  all  bald  and  black;  and  its  hands  moved  like 
he  was  tickling  someone. 

"And  after  that  the  priest  had  him  buried,  like 
they  buried  the  Old  Ones;  but  the  wraith  passed 
into  a  bull  seal.  You  would  be  feared  to  see  the 
like  of  the  bull  seal.     There  was  a  man  of  the 


THE   SEAL   MAN  47 

O'Kanes  fired  a  blessed  shilling  at  him,  and  the 
seal  roared  up  at  him  and  tore  his  arm  across. 
There  was  marks  like  black  stars  on  him  after  till 
he  died.  And  the  bull  seal  walked  like  a  man  at 
the  change  of  the  moon,  like  a  big,  tall,  handsome 
man  stepping  the  roads.  You'd  be  feared,  sir,  if 
you  saw  the  like.  He  set  his  eyes  on  young  Norah 
O'Hara.  Lovely  she  was.  She'd  little  ways,  sir, 
would  draw  the  heart  out  of  an  old  bachelor. 
Wasn't  it  a  great  curse  he  should  take  her  when 
there  was  old  hags  the  like  of  Mary  that  has  no 
more  beauty  than  a  withered  broom  that  you 
wouldn't  be  bothered  to  mend  or  a  done-out  old 
gather-up  of  a  duck  that  a  hungry  dog  would  blush 
to  be  biting?    Still,  he  took  Norah. 

"She  had  a  little  son,  and  the  little  son  was  a 
seal-man;  the  priest  wouldn't  sign  him  with  the 
cross.  When  Norah  died  he  used  always  to  be 
going  to  the  sea;  he  would  always  be  swimming. 
He'd  little  soft  brown  hair,  like  a  seal's,  the  pret- 
tiest you  would  be  seeing.  He  used  to  talk  to  the 
seals.  My  father  was  coming  home  one  night  from 
Carnmore,  and  he  saw  the  little  seal-man  in  the 
sea;  and  the  seals  were  playing  with  him,  singing 


48  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

songs.  But  my  father  was  feared  to  hear;  he  ran 
away.  They  stoned  the  seal-man,  whiles,  after 
that;  but  whiles  they  didn't  stone  it.  They  had  a 
kindness  for  it,  although  it  had  no  holy  water  on 
it.  It  was  a  very  young  thing  to  be  walking  the 
world,  and  it  was  a  beautiful  wee  thing,  with  its 
eyes  so  pretty;  so  it  grew  up  to  be  a  man. 

"Them  that  live  in  the  water,  they  have  ways  of 
calling  people.  Them  who  passed  this  seal-man, 
they  felt  the  call  in  their  hearts.  Indeed,  if  you 
passed  the  seal-man,  stepping  the  roads,  you  would 
get  a  queer  twist  from  the  way  he  looked  at  you. 
And  he  set  his  love  on  a  young  girl  of  the  O'Keefe's, 
a  little  young  girl  with  no  more  in  her  than  the 
flower  on  its  stalk.  You  would  see  them  in  the 
loanings  coming  home,  or  in  the  bright  of  the  day 
going.  There  was  a  strong  love  was  on  them  two 
young  things;  it  was  like  the  love  of  the  Old  Ones 
that  took  nine  deaths  to  kill.  They  would  be  tell- 
ing Kate  it  was  not  right  she  should  set  her  love 
on  one  who  wasn't  like  ourselves;  but  there's  few 
indeed  is  the  young'll  listen.  They  are  all  for 
pleasure,  all  for  pleasure,  before  they  are  withered 
old  hags,  the  like  of  my  sister  Mary.    And  at  last 


THE   SEAL   MAN  49 

they  shut  her  up  at  home,  to  keep  her  from  seeing 
him.  And  he  came  by  her  cabin  to  the  west  of  the 
road,  calling.  There  was  a  strong  love  came  up 
in  her  at  that,  and  she  put  down  her  sewing  on  the 
table,  and  'Mother,'  she  says,  'there's  no  lock, 
and  no  key,  and  no  bolt,  and  no  door.  There's  no 
iron,  nor  no  stone,  nor  anything  at  all  will  keep 
me  this  night  from  the  man  I  love.'  And  she  went 
out  into  the  moonlight  to  him,  there  by  the  bush 
where  the  flowers  is  pretty,  beyond  the  river.  And 
he  says  to  her:  'You  are  all  of  the  beauty  of  the 
world,  will  you  come  where  I  go,  over  the  waves 
of  the  sea?'  And  she  says  to  him:  'My  treasure 
and  my  strength,'  she  says,  'I  would  follow  you  on 
the  frozen  hills,  my  feet  bleeding.' 

"Then  they  went  down  into  the  sea  together, 
and  the  moon  made  a  track  upon  the  sea,  and  they 
walked  down  it;  it  was  like  a  flame  before  them. 
There  was  no  fear  at  all  on  her;  only  a  great  love 
like  the  love  of  the  Old  Ones,  that  was  stronger 
than  the  touch  of  the  fool.  She  had  a  little  white 
throat,  and  little  cheeks  like  flowers,  and  she  went 
down  into  the  sea  with  her  man,  who  wasn't  a  man 
at  all.     She  was  drowned,  of  course.     It's  like  he 


50  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

never  thought  that  she  wouldn't  bear  the  sea  like 
himself.    She  was  drowned,  drowned. 

"When  it  come  light  they  saw  the  seal-man  sit- 
ting yonder  on  the  rock,  and  she  lying  by  him, 
dead,  with  her  face  as  white  as  a  flower.  He  was 
crying  and  beating  her  hands  to  bring  life  to  her. 
It  would  have  drawn  pity  from  a  priest  to  hear 
him,  though  he  wasn't  Christian.  And  at  last,  when 
he  saw  that  she  was  drowned,  he  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  slipped  into  the  sea  like  a  seal.  And  he 
swam,  carrying  her,  with  his  head  up,  laughing 
and  laughing  and  laughing,  and  no  one  ever  saw 
him  again  at  all." 


THE   WESTERN   ISLANDS  51 


THE   WESTERN    ISLANDS 

"Once  there  were  two  sailors;  and  one  of  them 
was  Joe,  and  the  other  one  was  Jerry,  and  they 
were  fishermen.  And  they'd  a  young  apprentice- 
feller,  and  his  name  was  Jim.  And  Joe  was  a 
great  one  for  his  pot,  and  Jerry  was  a  wonder  at 
his  pipe;  and  Jim  did  all  the  work,  and  both  of 
them  banged  him.  So  one  time  Joe  and  Jerry 
were  in  the  beerhouse,  and  there  was  a  young  par- 
son there,  telling  the  folks  about  foreign  things, 
about  plants  and  that.  'Ah,'  he  says,  'what  won- 
ders there  are  in  the  west/ 

"  'What  sort  of  wonders,  begging  your  pardon, 
sir,'  says  Joe.  'What  sort  of  wonders  might  them 
be?' 

"  'Why,  all  sorts  of  wonders,'  says  the  parson. 
'Why,  in  the  west,'  he  says,  'there's  things  you 
wouldn't  believe.  No,  you  wouldn't  believe;  not 
till  you'd  seen  them,'  he  says.     'There's  diamonds 


52  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

growing  on  the  trees.  And  great,  golden,  glitter- 
ing pearls  as  common  as  pea-straw.  And  there's 
islands  in  the  west.  Ah,  I  could  tell  you  of  them. 
Islands?  I  rather  guess  there's  islands.  None  of 
your  Isles  of  Man.  None  of  your  Alderney  and 
Sark.    Not  in  them  seas/ 

"  'What  sort  of  islands  might  they  be,  begging 
your  pardon,  sir?'  says  Jerry. 

11  'Why,'  he  says  (the  parson  feller  says) ,  'islands. 
Islands  as  big  as  Spain.  Islands  with  rivers  of 
rum  and  streams  of  sarsaparilla.  And  none  of 
your  roses.  Rubies  and  ame-thynes  is  all  the  roses 
grows  in  them  parts.  With  golden  stalks  to  them, 
and  big  diamond  sticks  to  them,  and  the  taste  of 
pork-crackling  if  you  eat  them.  They're  the  sort 
of  roses  to  have  in  your  area,'  he  says. 

"  'And  what  else  might  there  be  in  them  parts, 
begging  your  pardon,  sir?'  says  Joe. 

"  'Why,'  he  says,  this  parson  says,  'there's  won- 
ders. There's  not  only  wonders  but  miracles.  And 
not  only  miracles,  but  sperrits.' 

"  'What  sort  of  sperrits  might  they  be,  begging 
your  pardon?'  says  Jerry.  'Are  they  rum  and 
that?' 


THE   WESTERN    ISLANDS  53 

"  When  I  says  sperms,'  says  the  parson  feller, 
'I  mean  ghosts/ 

"  'Of  course  ye  do,'  says  Joe. 

"  'Yes,  ghosts,'  says  the  parson.  'And  by 
ghosts  I  mean  sperrits.  And  by  sperrits  I  mean 
white  things.  And  by  white  things  I  mean  things 
as  turn  your  hair  white.  And  there's  red  devils 
there,  and  blue  devils  there,  and  a  great  gold 
queen  a-waiting  for  a  man  to  kiss  her.  And  the 
first  man  as  dares  to  kiss  that  queen,  why  he  be- 
comes king,  and  all  her  sacks  of  gold  become 
his.' 

"  'Begging  your  pardon,  sir,'  said  Jerry,  'but 
whereabouts  might  these  here  islands  be?' 

"  'Why,  in  the  west,'  says  the  parson.  'In  the 
west,  where  the  sun  sets.' 

"  'Ah,'  said  Joe  and  Jerry.  'What  wonders 
there  are  in  the  world.' 

***** 

"Now,  after  that,  neither  one  of  them  could 
think  of  anything  but  these  here  western  islands. 
So  at  last  they  take  their  smack,  and  off  they  go 
in  search  of  them.  And  Joe  had  a  barrel  of  beer 
in  the  bows,  and  Jerry  had  a  box  of  twist  in  the 


54  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

waist,  and  pore  little  Jim  stood  and  steered  abaft 
all.  And  in  the  evenings  Jerry  and  Joe  would 
bang  their  pannikins  together,  and  sing  of  the 
great  times  they  meant  to  have  when  they  were 
married  to  the  queen.  Then  they  would  clump 
pore  little  Jim  across  the  head,  and  tell  him  to 
watch  out,  and  keep  her  to  her  course,  or  they'd 
ride  him  down  like  you  would  a  main  tack.  And 
he'd  better  mind  his  eye,  they  told  him,  or  they'd 
make  him  long  to  be  boiled  and  salted.  And  he'd 
better  put  more  sugar  in  the  tea,  they  said,  or 
they'd  cut  him  up  for  cod-bait.  And  who  was  he, 
they  asked,  to  be  wanting  meat  for  dinner,  when 
there  was  that  much  weevilly  biscuit  in  the  bread- 
barge?  And  boys  was  going  to  the  dogs,  they 
said,  when  limbs  the  like  of  him  had  the  heaven- 
born  insolence  to  want  to  sleep.  And  a  nice  pass 
things  was  coming  to,  they  said,  when  a  lad  as 
they'd  done  everything  for,  and  saved,  so  to 
speak,  from  the  workhouse,  should  go  for  to 
snivel  when  they  hit  him  a  clip.  If  they'd  said  a 
word,  when  they  was  hit,  when  they  was  boys, 
they  told  him,  they'd  have  had  their  bloods  drawed, 
and  been  stood  in  the  wind  to  cool.     But  let  him 


THE   WESTERN    ISLANDS  55 

take  heed,  they  said,  and  be  a  good  lad,  and  do 
the  work  of  five,  and  they  wouldn't  half  wonder, 
they  used  to  say,  as  he'd  be  a  man  before  his 
mother.  So  the  sun  shone,  and  the  stars  came  out 
golden,  and  all  the  sea  was  a  sparkle  of  gold  with 
them.  Blue  was  the  sea,  and  the  wind  blew,  too, 
and  it  blew  Joe  and  Jerry  west  as  fast  as  a  cat  can 
eat  sardines. 

***** 

"And  one  fine  morning  the  wind  fell  calm,  and 
a  pleasant  smell  came  over  the  water,  like  nutmegs 
on  a  rum-milk-punch.  Presently  the  dawn  broke. 
And,  lo  and  behold,  a  rousing  great  wonderful 
island,  all  scarlet  with  coral  and  with  rubies.  The 
surf  that  was  beating  on  her  sands  went  shattering 
into  silver  coins,  into  dimes,  and  pesetas,  and 
francs,  and  fourpenny  bits.  And  the  flowers  on 
the  cliffs  was  all  one  gleam  and  glitter.  And  the 
beauty  of  that  island  was  a  beauty  beyond  the 
beauty  of  Sally  Brown,  the  lady  as  kept  the  beer- 
house. And  on  the  beach  of  that  island,  on  a 
golden  throne,  like,  sat  a  woman  so  lovely  that 
to  look  at  her  was  as  good  as  a  church-service  for 
one. 


56  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

"  'That's  the  party  I  got  to  kiss,'  said  Jerry. 
'Steady,  and  beach  her,  Jim,  boy,'  he  says.  'Run 
her  ashore,  lad.    That's  the  party  is  to  be  my  queen.' 

"You've  got  a  neck  on  you,  all  of  a  sudden,' 
said  Joe.  'You  ain't  the  admiral  of  this  fleet.  Not 
by  a  wide  road  you  ain't.  I'll  do  all  the  kissing 
as  there's  any  call  for.    You  keep  clear,  my  son.' 

Here  the  boat  ran  her  nose  into  the  sand,  and  the 
voyagers  went  ashore. 

"'Keep  clear,  is  it?'  said  Jerry.  'You  tell  me 
to  keep  clear?  You  tell  me  again,  and  I'll  put  a 
head  on  you — '11  make  you  sing  like  a  kettle.  Who 
are  you  to  tell  me  to  keep  clear?' 

"  'I  tell  you  who  I  am,'  said  Joe.  'I'm  a  better 
man  than  you  are.  That's  what  I  am.  I'm  Joe 
the  Tank,  from  Limehouse  Basin,  and  there's  no 
tinker's  donkey-boy'll  make  me  stand  from  under. 
Who  are  you  to  go  kissing  queens?  Who  are  you 
that  talk  so  proud  and  so  mighty?  You've  a 
face  on  you  would  make  a  Dago  tired.  You  look 
like  a  sea-sick  Kanaka  that's  boxed  seven  rounds 
with  a  buzz-saw.  You've  no  more  manners  than 
a  hog,  and  you've  a  lip  on  you  would  fetch  the 
enamel  off  a  cup.' 


THE   WESTERN    ISLANDS  57 

"  'If  it  comes  to  calling  names/  said  Jerry,  'you 
ain't  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach.  Whatever 
you  might  think,  I  tell  you  you  ain't.  You're  the 
round  turn  and  two-half  hitches  of  a  figure  of  fun 
as  makes  the  angels  weep.  That's  what  you  are. 
And  you're  the  right-hand  strand,  and  the  left- 
hand  strand,  and  the  centre  strand,  and  the  core, 
and  the  serving,  and  the  marling,  of  a  three- 
stranded,  left-handed,  poorly  worked  junk  of  a 
half  begun  and  never  finished  odds  and  ends  of  a 
Port  Mahon  soldier.  You  look  like  a  Portuguese 
drummer.  You've  a  whelky  red  nose  that  shines 
like  a  port  side-light.  YouVe  a  face  like  a  muddy 
field  where  they've  been  playing  football  in  the 
rain.  Your  hair  is  an  insult  and  a  shame.  I  blush 
when  I  look  at  you.  You  give  me  a  turn  like  the 
first  day  out  to  a  first  voyager.  Kiss,  will  you? 
Kiss?  Man,  I  tell  you  you'd  paralyze  a  shark  if 
you  kissed  him.  Paralyze  him,  strike  him  cold. 
That's  what  a  kiss  of  yours'd  do.' 

"  'You  ought  to  a  been  a  parson,'  said  Joe, 
'that's  what  you'd  ought.  There's  many  would 
a  paid  you  for  talk  like  that.  But  for  all  your 
fine  talk,  and  for  all  your  dandy  language,  you'll 


58  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

not  come  the  old  soldier  over  me.  No,  nor  ten  of 
you.  You  talk  of  kissing,  when  there's  a  hand- 
some young  man,  the  likes  of  me,  around  ?  Neither 
you  nor  ten  of  you.  To  hear  you  talk  one'd  think 
you  was  a  Emperor  or  a  Admiral.  One  would 
think  you  was  a  Bishop  or  a  King.  One  might 
mistake  you  for  a  General  or  a  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment. You  might.  Straight,  you  might.  A  Gen- 
eral or  a  Bishop  or  a  King.  And  what  are  you? 
kWhat  are  you?  I  ask  you  plain.  What  are  you? 
— I'll  tell  you  what  you  are. 

"  You're  him  as  hired  himself  out  as  a  scarecrow, 
acos  no  one'd  take  you  as  a  fo'c's'le  hand.  You're 
him  as  give  the  colic  to  a  weather-cock.  You're 
him  as  turned  old  Mother  Bomby's  beer.  You're 
him  as  drowned  the  duck  and  stole  the  monkey. 
You're  him  as  got  the  medal  give  him  for  having 
a  face  that  made  the  bull  tame.    You're ' 

11  'Now  don't  you  cast  no  more  to  me/  said 
Jerry.  'For  I  won't  take  no  lip  from  a  twelve-a- 
shilling,  cent-a-corner,  the  likes  of  you  are. 
You're  the  clippings  of  old  junk,  what  the  Dagoes 
smokes  in  cigarettes.  A  swab,  and  a  wash-deck- 
broom,  and  the  half  of  a  pint  of  paint'd  make  a 


THE   WESTERN    ISLANDS  59 

handsomer  figer  of  a  man  than  what  you  are.  I've 
seen  a  coir  whisk,  what  they  grooms  a  mule  with, 
as  had  a  sweeter  face  than  you  got.  So  stand 
aside,  before  you're  put  aside.  I'm  the  king  of  this 
here  island.  You  can  go  chase  yourself  for  another. 
Stand  clear,  I  say,  or  I'll  give  you  a  jog'll  make 
your  bells  ring/ 

***** 

"Now,  while  they  were  argufying,  young  Jim,  the 
young  apprentice  feller,  he  creeps  up  to  the  queen 
upon  the  throne.  She  was  beautiful,  she  was, 
and  she  shone  in  the  sun,  and  she  looked  straight 
ahead  of  her  like  a  wax-work  in  a  show.  And  in 
her  hand  she  had  a  sack  full  of  jewels,  and  at  her 
feet  she  had  a  sack  full  of  gold,  and  by  her  side 
was  an  empty  throne  ready  for  the  king  she  married. 
But  round  her  right  hand  there  was  a  red  snake, 
and  round  her  left  hand  there  was  a  blue  snake,  and 
the  snakes  hissed  and  twisted,  and  they  showed 
their  teeth  full  of  poison.  So  Jim  looked  at  the 
snakes,  and  he  hit  them  a  welt,  right  and  left,  and 
he  kissed  the  lady. 

"And  immediately  all  the  bells  and  the  birds  of 
the  world  burst  out  a-ringing  and  a-singing.     The 


60  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

lady  awoke  from  her  sleep,  and  Jim's  old  clothes 
were  changed  to  cloth  of  gold.  And  there  he  was,  a 
king,  on  the  throne  beside  the  lady. 

"But  the  red  snake  turned  to  a  big  red  devil  who 
took  a  hold  of  Joe,  and  the  blue  snake  turned  to  a 
big  blue  devil,  who  took  a  hold  of  Jerry.  And 
'Come  you  here,  you  brawling  pugs,'  they  said, 
'come  and  shovel  sand.'  And  Joe  and  Jerry  took 
the  spades  that  were  given  to  them.  And  'Dig, 
now,'  said  the  devils.  'Heave  round.  Let's  see 
you  dig.  Dig,  you  scarecrows.  And  tell  us  when 
you've  dug  to  London.'  " 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  61 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   WARD 

Captain  John  Ward,  our  "most  notorious  pirate," 
was  born  at  Feversham,  in  Kent,  about  the  year 
1555.  We  first  hear  of  him  as  a  fisherman  of  that 
town,  the  child  of  mean  parents,  of  "estate  lowe," 
and  of  "hope,"  or  expectations,  still  less.  It  has 
been  stated  that,  at  one  time,  presumably  in  his 
youth,  he  made  one  of  a  buccaneering  party  in  the 
West  Indies.  It  is  highly  probable  that  he  learned 
the  crafts  of  seamanship  and  navigation  as  a 
mariner  in  one  of  the  many  raids  against  the 
Spaniards,  between  the  years  1570  and  1596.  The 
Spanish  Main,  no  less  than  the  English  Channel  at 
that  time,  was  a  very  pleasant  place  for  a  pirate; 
and  Ward,  in  later  years,  talked  mournfully  of  the 
good  days  he  had  had  in  his  youth,  "robbing  at 
will,  and  counting  the  world  but  a  garden  where 
he  walked  for  sport."  After  the  death  of  Drake,  in 
1596,  he  seems  to  have  been  a  seaman  aboard  one 
of   the   Queen's   ships   on    a   voyage   to    Portugal. 


62  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

Pepwell,  writing  in  1608,  tells  us  that  he  "rose 
through  all  ranks  of  the  (naval)  service  in  our  wars 
with  Spain." 

His  buccaneering  and  naval  service,  if  he  ever 
indulged  in  any,  failed  to  make  his  fortune;  for  he 
was  a  fisherman  at  Feversham,  owning  a  single 
small  fishing-boat,  in  the  year  1602.  In  that  year 
his  pride  grew  to  such  a  height  that  he  could  brook 
the  fishery  no  longer.  "Nothing  would  serve  him 
but  the  wide  Ocean  to  walke  in."  He  went  aboard 
his  ketch  one  morning,  and  crept  along  the  coast 
to  Plymouth,  where  he  seems  to  have  sold  his  ves- 
sel for  a  fair  sum.  His  wife  he  left  behind  him  at 
Feversham. 

For  the  next  few  months  he  lived  in  the  Plymouth 
taverns,  drinking  the  wondrous  Plymouth  ale, 
which  was  "stronger  than  sack,"  and  cheap,  and 
so  full  of  alcohol  that  "an  halfe  bowle"  would 
make  a  sailor's  wits  like  a  merry-go-round.  Ply- 
mouth at  that  time  was  full  of  wastrels  and  rogues. 
The  chief  clients  of  the  ale-houses  were  runaway 
sailors,  who,  after  entering  for  a  voyage,  and 
drawing  an  advance,  or  bounty,  lay  perdu  till  the 
ship  had  sailed.    The  society  of  the  long-shore  was 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   WARD  63 

highly  undesirable.  [What  with  pirates  and  de- 
serters and  smugglers,  at  every  street  corner,  hon- 
est John  Ward  had  little  incentive  to  be  virtu- 
ous. By  1603  he  had  become  a  ragged,  moody 
ruffian  who  got  drunk  every  night  "with  drinking 
of  the  King"  among  a  company  of  "scatter-goods 
and  swaggerers."  He  went  by  the  name  of  Jack 
Ward,  and  had  a  reputation  as  a  stout  drinker  and 
swearer.  He  used  to  sit  on  the  tavern  benches 
"cursing  the  time"  with  a  vehemence  which  won 
him  the  regard  of  all  who  heard.  His  biographer 
suggests  that  he  paid  no  rent.  The  little  money  he 
possessed  seems  to  have  been  spent  in  drink : 

Ale  was  his  eating  and  his  drinking  solely 

so  that  "all  the  day  you  should  hardly  fail  but 
finde  him  in  an  ale-house :  but  bee  sure  to  have  him 
drunke  at  home  at  night." 

After  a  few  months  in  Plymouth,  his  money  (his 
savings,  or  the  proceeds  of  the  ketch)  was  ex- 
hausted. Plymouth  ale  became  no  longer  feasible, 
nor  would  the  hosts  give  him  credit,  and  at  this 
time  he  seems  to  have  obtained  some  employment 
in  one  of  the  King's  ships.     It  was  not  then  a 


64  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

difficult  business  to  enter  a  King's  ship,  and  no 
doubt  Ward  had  a  wide  acquaintance  among  the 
warrant  officers  of  the  ships  in  harbour.  A  word 
from  one  of  them  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
obtain  a  post  for  him.  We  do  not  know  the  exact 
nature  of  his  employment,  but  it  was  probably  that 
of  ship-keeper,  or  petty-officer.  As  such,  he  went 
aboard  the  Lions  Whelp,  a  small  man-of-war,  then 
lying  in  the  harbour.  The  work,  whatever  it  was, 
was  probably  not  very  arduous,  nor  does  it  appear 
that  the  ship  had  her  full  complement  "of  63 
hands"  aboard  her.  Ward  helped  to  fit  her  for  the 
sea,  and  made  one  of  the  crew  (probably  a  scratch 
crew)  which  worked  her  round,  shortly  afterwards, 
to  Portsmouth,  where  she  anchored. 

The  Navy,  at  that  time,  was  by  no  means  a 
popular  service.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  writing  in 
this  very  year,  tells  us  that  "They  go  with  as 
great  grudging  to  serve  in  his  Majesty's  ships  as 
if  it  were  to  be  slaves  in  the  galleys."  Five  years 
after  this  date,  when  matters  had  grown  rather 
worse,  under  a  Stuart  administration,  the  Navy 
was  "for  the  greatest  part  manned  with  aged, 
impotent,     vagrant,     lewd     and     disorderly     com- 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  65 

panions";  it  had  "become  a  ragged  regiment  of 
common  rogues."  Aboard  the  Lions  Whelp  they 
were  mostly  old  rovers  who  had  sailed  in  the 
piratical  raids  of  the  last  reign.  The  work  they 
had  to  do  while  they  lay  in  Portsmouth  was 
not  enough  to  keep  them  employed;  and  "when 
sailors  are  idle  you  have  mutiny."  Besides  too 
much  spare  time,  they  had  too  many  causes  for 
complaint.  The  ship's  beer  was  sour;  the  ship 
had  an  unwholesome  smell;  the  beef  and  fish  were 
putrid;  the  pay  was  both  irregular  and  insufficient. 
In  the  evenings,  when  work  was  at  an  end,  the 
ship-keepers  would  get  together;  and  Ward  would 
hold  forth  to  them  upon  the  evils  of  their  lot.  He 
told  them  of  the  happy  days  they  had  enjoyed  to- 
gether in  the  past,  in  the  West  Indies  or  else- 
where, when  the  world  had  been  an  oyster  to  them, 
which,  with  their  jack-knives,  they  had  opened. 
The  sailors  listened  to  him,  and  held  his  words  to 
be  sound  doctrine;  but,  as  they  saw  no  remedy, 
they  contented  themselves  with  listening. 

It  happened  that  Ward  somehow  came  to  hear 
of  a  recusant,  a  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  who 
was  preparing   to   leave   England   for    France,    in 


66  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

order  to  enjoy  "liberty  of  conscience."  He  had 
sold  his  estate  near  Petersfield,  and  had  chartered 
a  bark  of  twenty-five  tons,  to  convey  him  to  Havre. 
The  bark  lay  at  Portsmouth,  not  far  from  the 
Lions  Whelp,  and  aboard  her  (so  Ward  was  in- 
formed) was  the  recusant's  money.  The  religious 
issue  probably  did  not  weigh  with  Ward;  but  the 
thought  of  £2,000,  "in  ready  chinkes,"  besides 
plate  and  jewels,  was  too  much  for  him.  His 
informant  (no  doubt  one  of  the  crew  of  the  bark) 
may  have  exaggerated  matters;  but  even  with  a 
considerable  discount  the  bark  must  have  seemed 
a  most  noble  "purchase."  Ward  hastened  to  tell 
his  brother  warrants  of  the  "comfortable  little 
dew  of  Heaven"  lying  so  close  beside  them.  They 
agreed  with  him  that  such  an  opportunity  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  pass.  They  had  had  enough  of 
the  King's  service  to  last  them  through  their  lives, 
and  there,  in  the  little  bark,  was  "present  pay" 
enough  to  keep  them  in  affluence.  They  planned 
to  go  ashore  together  till  the  evening,  when  they 
would  lay  the  bark  aboard,  make  a  prize  of  her, 
and  carry  her  away  to  sea,  there  to  rove  as  pirates 
"to  seek  their  desperate  fortunes," 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   WARD  67 

The  work  they  had  to  do  aboard  the  Lions  Whelp 
was,  as  we  have  said,  not  enough  to  keep  them 
busy.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  leave  to 
go  ashore,  on  the  rather  curious  pretext  that  the 
steward  did  not  give  them  a  full  allowance,  and 
that  they  were  hungry,  and  wished  to  buy  them- 
selves a  square  meal,  at  one  of  the  inns  by  the 
Point.  They  went  ashore  together  in  one  of  the 
boats,  and  soon  found  a  tavern  to  their  taste. 
Here  they  sat  down  to  disport  themselves  "after 
the  manner  of  sailors,"  with  the  "humming  ale" 
and  "virtuous  sacke"  of  their  hearts*  desires. 
Very  presently,  although  it  was  early  in  the  day, 
they  became  drunk.  They  began  to  "swagger," 
or  bluster,  and  in  their  songs  and  oaths,  and 
drunken  talk,  they  seem  to  have  let  fall  a  few  dark 
hints  of  their  intentions  towards  the  recusant. 
The  recusant  happened  to  be  ashore  in  Portsmouth 
waiting  for  the  tide,  or  buying  necessaries.  He 
saw  "a  ragged  regiment  of  common  rogues" 
rolling  from  inn  to  inn.  He  heard  their  oaths  and 
menaces  (or  heard  of  them  from  some  one  he  could 
trust),  and  became  suspicious..  Portsmouth  was 
but  a  little  town,  and  the  presence  of  a  drunken 


68  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

gang,  at  such  a  time,  was  disquieting.  The  recusant 
resolved  to  run  no  risks.  He  went  aboard  the  little 
bark  and  conveyed  ashore  his  "ready  chinkes,"  with 
all  his  plate  and  jewels. 

When  the  light  began  to  fail,  Ward's  company 
took  their  boat  and  rowed  to  the  bark.  They  laid 
her  aboard  very  quietly,  and  carried  her  without 
opposition,  for  there  were  only  "two  poor  sneaks" 
in  charge  of  her.  They  thrust  this  couple  below, 
while  some  of  them  hove  up  the  anchor,  and  got 
sail  upon  her.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  under 
way.  They  ran  out  to  sea  with  a  shout  to  the 
battery,  and  shaped  a  course  to  the  westward. 

It  did  not  take  the  pirates  many  minutes  to 
discover  that  they  had  been  duped,  and  that  the 
gold  they  had  risked  their  necks  for  was  not 
aboard.  It  took  them  sadly  aback,  and  caused 
them  "to  be  ranck  mad,"  for  there  was  no  return- 
ing to  Portsmouth.  It  was  one  of  those  awkward 
situations  in  which  the  great  man  gets  an  oppor- 
tunity to  explain  himself.  It  was  Ward's  oppor- 
tunity; and  he  rose  to  it  at  once.  The  recusant 
had  provisioned  the  ship  for  the  voyage  with  a 
profusion  which  did  him  honour.    Although  he  had 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  69 

taken  his  money-bags,  his  "nest  of  goldfinches," 
he  had  not  removed  his  "turkey-pies,"  his  "veni- 
son pasties,"  and  his  "sundry  sorts  of  sacke";  so 
that  there  was  no  question  of  the  pirates  running 
short  of  food  for  some  little  time.  Ward  set  a 
watch,  and  placed  a  good  man  at  the  helm,  and 
called  a  council  round  his  supper-table.  They 
made  a  very  excellent  supper,  and  washed  it  down 
with  what  some  one  has  called  "the  learned  poet's 
good."  As  they  ate  and  drank,  they  debated  that 
if  they  ventured  again  into  Portsmouth  they  would 
very  speedily  be  hanged,  at  low  water  mark,  as  a 
warning  to  sailors.  It  was  not  very  probable  that 
they  would  be  pursued;  so  that  there  was  no 
immediate  danger,  and  Ward  proposed  that  they 
should  cruise  for  a  day  or  two  off  the  Land's  End ; 
and  then,  if  they  met  with  any  luck,  put  into 
Plymouth,  to  take  off  some  of  the  men  who  had 
been  his  boon-companions  there,  before  he  joined 
the  Navy.  After  that,  he  thought,  they  could 
"commence  pirates"  on  a  more  ambitious  scale. 
They  could  enter  the  Mediterranean,  and  join  issue 
with  the  pirates  of  Algiers. 

This  project  won  the  hearts  of  all  present;  so 


;o  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

westward  they  sailed.  In  a  day  or  two  they  had 
reached  their  cruising  ground,  near  the  Scilly 
Islands,  and  there  they  sighted  a  fine  French 
merchantman,  bound  for  Ireland.  Ward  sent  his 
men  below,  so  that  the  merchants  should  not 
suspect  him.  He  ran  up  to  the  Frenchman  and 
hailed  him,  in  all  friendship.  The  Frenchman  sus- 
pected nothing;  and  for  some  time  the  two  ships 
kept  company.  Presently,  when  Ward  thought 
that  the  Frenchmen  would  be  quite  off  their  guards, 
he  edged  his  bark  alongside,  and  called  his  gang 
to  board  her.  The  surprise  was  complete.  The 
Frenchmen  were  beaten  down  below,  or  flung 
overboard,  and  Ward  found  himself  in  possession 
of  a  ship  of  seventy  tons,  well-equipped,  and 
armed.  After  this,  he  sailed  for  Plymouth,  where 
he  anchored  in  Cawsand  Bay.  Some  of  his  com- 
pany contrived  to  enter  the  town,  where  they 
persuaded  a  number  of  ruffians  to  leave  the  taverns 
and  to  come  for  a  cruise.  With  these  recruits, 
Ward  thought  himself  strong  enough  to  put  to 
sea  as  a  rover.  He  left  Cawsand  Bay  and  sailed 
away  down  Channel  to  the  Spanish  coasts. 

He  seems  to  have  cruised  for  several  months  off 


CAPTAIN    JOHN    WARD  71 

the  coast  of  Spain,  with  considerable  success.  He 
took  a  ship  of  one  hundred  tons,  and  a  smaller 
vessel,  a  coaster,  of  the  kind  known  as  a  sattee. 
In  both  these  vessels  he  found  recruits,  besides 
gold  and  merchandise;  so  that,  by  the  spring  of 
1604,  he  felt  himself  strong  enough  to  proceed  to 
Algiers,  to  league  himself,  as  many  English  pirates 
had  done  before  him,  to  the  Algerine  pirates,  the 
scourges  of  the  Mediterranean.  But  it  chanced 
that,  only  a  few  weeks  before  he  came  to  Algiers, 
one  Richard  Gifford,  a  pirate  of  renown,  in  the 
service  of  the  Duke  of  Tuscany,  had  burnt  some 
Algerine  galleys,  and  killed  many  of  the  pirates  on 
board  them.  The  Algerines  were  retaliating  by 
barbarous  reprisals  upon  English  merchantmen, 
and  when  Ward  arrived  off  their  city  he  found 
them  particularly  bitter.  They  refused  his  proffered 
alliance,  and  drove  him  from  their  ports.  He 
therefore  proceeded  to  Tunis,  where  he  became  a 
Turk  (in  order  to  satisfy  the  religious  scruples  of 
the  natives),  and  made  some  satisfactory  arrange- 
ment with  the  Bey,  or  Governor,  a  man  named 
Osmund,  or  "Crossyman."  In  consideration  of 
some  large  percentage  of  his  profits  this  Bey,  or 


72  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

"Crossyman,"  agreed  to  allow  him  to  shelter  and 
recruit  at  Tunis,  and  to  use  that  port  as  a  base 
from  which  he  might  sally  out  to  rob  at  pleasure. 
The  name  Crossyman  seems  to  be  a  corruption  of 
Cara  Osman,  or  Osman  the  Dark.  Osman,  it  seems, 
had  started  life  as  a  tailor. 

It  is  difficult  for  one  accustomed  to  the  law  and 
order  of  the  present  day  to  understand  the  dangers 
which  threatened  the  Jacobean  traveller.  The  seas 
swarmed  with  pirates;  so  that  few  merchantmen 
dared  put  to  sea  without  arms;  while  very  few 
came  home  without  some  tale  of  an  encounter. 
There  were  pirates  in  the  Atlantic,  to  intercept  the 
ships  coming  home  from  the  Newfoundland  fish- 
eries. There  were  pirates  in  the  West  Indies,  roving 
for  Spanish  treasure-ships.  There  were  pirates  in 
the  Orkneys,  preying  upon  the  Iceland  trades. 
There  were  pirates  all  over  Ireland,  especially  in 
the  south  and  the  west,  ranging  over  the  Channel, 
and  round  these  coasts.  But  there  were,  perhaps, 
more  pirates  in  the  Mediterranean  than  in  all  the 
other  waters  put  together.  In  the  Mediterranean 
they  had  the  most  part  of  the  trade  of  Europe  for 
their  quarry;  while  the  coasts  of  Africa,  and  the 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  73 

islands  of  the  Archipelago,  provided  obscure  har- 
bours (with  compliant  Governors)  for  the  recruiting 
of  the  companies  after  a  cruise.  The  pirates,  like 
the  buccaneers  a  century  later,  preferred  to  cruise  in 
small  ships,  in  order  that  they  might  be  less  con- 
spicuous and  less  likely  to  arouse  the  suspicion  of 
the  merchantmen.  It  was  their  custom  to  cruise 
in  the  swiftest  ships  they  could  find;  and  it  must 
be  remembered  that  their  vessels,  being  small, 
could  be  propelled  by  sweeps  when  the  wind  failed 
them.  When  they  sighted  a  ship  which  seemed  to 
them  to  be  a  profitable  quarry  they  contrived  to 
follow  her,  without  arousing  her  suspicions,  until 
the  evening,  when  they  used  to  lay  her  aboard.  If 
the  quarry  were  slower  than  the  cruiser,  as  gener- 
ally happened,  the  pirates  did  not  shorten  sail,  lest 
the  merchants  should  suspect  them.  They  carried 
their  canvas  as  before,  but  they  took  care  to 
slacken  their  progress  by  dragging  a  sea-anchor, 
a  cask  or  two  of  water,  "or  other  such  like,"  in 
the  sea  astern  of  them.  They  kept  the  sea  in  the 
very  worst  of  weather  "by  reason  of  the  handiness 
of  their  ships  and  their  skill  as  mariners."  It  was 
their  custom  to  take  from  their  prizes  not  only  the 


74  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

valuables  such  as  gold  and  jewels,  but  the  sea- 
stores,  such  as  ropes,  spars,  sweeps,  sails,  and 
ship's  provisions.  With  these  "recruits,"  or  "plen- 
ishings," they  were  able  to  keep  out  of  harbour  for 
many  months  at  a  time;  and  constant  service  made 
them  excellent  sailors.  Their  profits  were  enor- 
mous, and  the  risks  they  ran  were  really  not  very 
serious.  The  English  Government,  with  its  decayed 
Navy,  could  do  very  little  against  them.  Spain 
was  at  war  with  Holland,  and  could  not  in  any 
case  spare  ships  from  her  West  Indian  convoys. 
Venice  alone  could  trouble  them;  but  the  Venetian 
galleys,  the  only  ships  they  dreaded,  were  expen- 
sive to  the  Venetian  state,  and  by  no  means  perfect 
as  protectors  of  commerce.  On  the  whole,  the  lot 
of  the  pirate  was  particularly  happy  and  free  from 
care.  To  such  a  lot  did  John  Ward  devote  himself, 
in  the  spring  of  1604,  after  his  relations  with  the 
Bey  of  Tunis  had  been  established  on  what  is 
known  as  "a  sound  financial  basis."  In  a  very  few 
years  he  had  made  himself  famous  beyond  expecta- 
tion. 

It  seems  that  Ward  prospered  as  a  pirate  from 
the  time  of  his  first  establishment  at  Tunis.     He 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  75 

took  a  rich  Venetian  "argosy"  in  his  first  cruise 
off  the  south  of  Spain,  and  a  day  or  two  later  he 
took  a  smaller  ship,  which  he  retained  as  his  flag- 
ship. He  fitted  her  with  four  and  twenty  cannon, 
and  named  her  "the  Little  John"  after  the  com- 
rade of  Robin  Hood.  Other  pirates,  among  them 
a  man  named  Simon  Dansekar,  offered  to  form  an 
alliance  with  him;  and  with  their  forces,  added  to 
his  own,  he  was  strong  enough  for  "bold  attempts." 
He  had  at  least  four  "well-appointed"  ships  under 
his  command,  with  "above  two  hundred  English- 
men, good  soldiers,  and  expert  mariners,"  besides 
Turks,  to  man  them.  With  this  squadron  he  took 
a  huge  Venetian  carrack,  after  a  fierce  fight.  The 
carrack  was  the  Soderina;  a  wealthy  merchantman, 
worth,  it  was  said,  some  half  a  million  crowns. 
The  credit  of  the  capture  was  due  to  Ward.  The 
ship  was  gallantly  defended,  and  would  not  have 
been  taken  had  not  Ward  driven  his  hands  aboard 
her  at  the  point  of  his  dagger.  The  wealth  was 
safely  landed  at  Tunis,  where  it  purchased  Ward 
an  abundant  popularity. 

While  dividing  the  spoils  of  this  carrack,  Ward 
quarrelled    with    his    partner,    Simon    Dansekar. 


76  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

Dansekar,  or  "Dansekar  the  Dutchman/'  was  a 
Fleming  of  Flushing,  who  commenced  pirate  by 
running  away  with  a  ship  from  Marseilles.  He 
seems  to  have  been  a  more  humane  man  than  Ward ; 
for  he  objected  to  Ward's  habit  of  selling  Christian 
prisoners  to  the  Turks.  He  was  merciful  to  mer- 
chants of  his  own  nationality,  while  Ward,  as 
Professor  Laughton  tells  us,  robbed  all  nations 
"with  exemplary  impartiality."  When  he  quar- 
relled with  Ward,  he  abandoned  Tunis,  and  re- 
moved his  ships  and  pirates  to  Algiers.  This 
breaking-up  of  the  partnership  so  weakened  Ward's 
position  with  the  Bey,  that  he  seems  to  have  been 
anxious  for  his  safety,  and  eager  to  make  new 
alliances.  An  English  merchant,  who  saw  him  at 
Tunis  at  this  crisis,  writes  of  him  as  being  "in  a 
desperate  plight,"  eager  to  give  up  some  40,000 
crowns'  worth  of  booty,  if,  for  such  a  bribe,  King 
James  would  pardon  him,  and  allow  him  to  land 
in  England,  with  some  three  hundred  of  his  gang. 
However,  the  desperate  plight  was  not  so  desperate 
as  the  merchant  thought.  According  to  Sir  Henry 
Wotton,  Ward  was  "beyond  a  doubt  the  greatest 
scoundrel  that  ever  sailed  from  England."    At  the 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  WARD  77 

time  of  his  application  to  King  James  he  was  pre- 
paring the  Soderina  for  a  piratical  cruise  "with 
forty  bronze  pieces  on  the  lower,  and  twenty  on 
the  upper  deck."  He  was  also  planning  to  obtain  a 
"letter  of  marque"  from  any  Italian  prince  who 
would  receive  him,  in  the  event  of  his  failure  to 
appease  King  James.  It  would  appear  that  the 
application  to  King  James  was  made  through  some 
courtier  for  a  consideration.  It  was  refused,  be- 
cause the  Venetian  ambassador,  Zorzi  Giustinian, 
demanded  that  no  such  pardon  should  be  granted 
until  the  State  of  Venice,  and  all  Venetian  subjects, 
had  been  amply  indemnified  for  their  losses. 

Zorzi  Giustinian  was  able  to  trouble  Ward  in 
another  way.  At  Tunis,  the  pirates'  harbour,  there 
was  little  market  for  merchandise.  Ward  had 
taken  a  great  spoil  of  silk  and  indigo  in  the 
Soderina,  but  he  could  not  dispose  of  it  to  his 
satisfaction  among  the  Turks  and  Moors.  He  in- 
duced an  English  ship,  which  had  put  into  Tunis 
for  water,  to  take  a  lading  of  these  goods,  to  dis- 
pose of  them  in  Flanders.  The  Venetian  Senate 
was  admirably  served  by  its  spies.  Giustinian 
received  particulars  of  this  ship,  and  induced  the 


78  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

Lord  High  Admiral  of  England  to  watch  for  her. 
At  the  end  of  1605,  she  was  taken  in  the  Channel, 
and  carried  into  an  English  port.  Her  name  was 
the  Husband,  and  she  was  owned  by  London  mer- 
chants. In  her  hold  was  some  <£  10,000  worth  of 
the  Soderinas  cargo.  Before  this  booty  had  been 
fully  discharged,  another  ship,  the  Seraphim, 
arrived  from  Tunis  with  a  similar  freight.  She, 
too,  was  arrested,  and  her  cargo,  or  as  much  of  it 
as  could  be  proved  to  be  Venetian,  was  handed 
back  to  Giustinian.  Ward  made  one  or  two  more 
attempts  to  open  up  a  market  in  Europe,  but  the 
ships  were  taken,  one  after  another,  at  Bristol  and 
elsewhere,  so  that  at  last  he  abandoned  the  scheme. 
He  waited  at  Tunis  for  several  months  for  King 
James's  answer  to  his  request  for  pardon.  When 
the  royal  refusal  reached  him,  he  put  to  sea  again, 
partly  to  make  more  money  to  offer  in  bribes  and 
partly  to  make  the  merchants  more  eager  for  him 
to  be  pardoned.  At  about  this  time,  March  1606,  a 
Royal  Proclamation  was  issued  for  his  suppression. 
The  cruise  of  1608  was  an  eventful  cruise  for 
Ward.  He  had  fitted  out  the  Soderina  for  a  flag- 
ship, and  had  mounted  her  with  sixty  or  seventy 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  79 

brass  guns.  He  had,  besides,  two  smaller  ships  of 
war,  both  "heavily  manned  and  armed."  Alto- 
gether he  seems  to  have  commanded  about  four 
hundred  men,  three-fourths  of  whom  were  Turks 
or  Moors,  the  others  being  Flemings,  French,  and 
Englishmen.  One  of  the  three  ships  foundered  off 
Carthage  early  in  the  cruise.  The  other  two  roved 
up  and  down,  and  took  two  valuable  Marseilles 
carracks. 

While  at  sea,  in  his  flag-ship,  Ward  lived  in 
great  state,  with  a  double  cabin  guard  of  twelve 
Turks  armed  with  scimitars.  He  had  his  "music" 
(an  English  trumpeter)  to  play  to  him;  and  no 
doubt  his  cabin  was  sweet  with  many  perfumes, 
and  nobly  furnished.  In  different  parts  of  his  ship 
were  refreshment  bars  or  canteens  for  the  sale  of 
wines  and  spirits.  All  his  sailors  received  a  daily 
allowance  of  strong  drink;  but  if  they  wanted  more 
they  had  to  purchase  it  at  one  of  these  canteens. 
Sailors  generally  want  more;  and  we  read  with 
small  surprise  that  the  discipline  of  the  Soderina 
was  not  particularly  good.  The  only  law  which 
has  come  down  to  us  from  her  code  is  one  forbid- 
ding, or  at  least  discouraging,  murder. 


80  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

The  piratical  squadron  turned  eastward  at  the 
end  of  February  1608  bound  to  plunder  "the 
shipping  of  Syria."  Early  in  March,  it  came  on  to 
blow  and  the  squadron  was  scattered.  The  great 
Soderina,  with  her  frame  much  weakened  by  her 
numerous  new  gun-ports,  and  her  upper  works 
much  strained  by  the  weight  of  her  new  brass 
guns,  began  to  labour  and  leak.  "About  one 
hundred  miles  off  Cerigo,"  when  the  weather  was 
at  its  worst,  she  started  a  plank,  and  went  to  the 
bottom.  More  than  three  hundred  Turks  sank  with 
her.  The  sole  survivors  were  "four  men  and  a 
boy"  who  were  found  afloat  on  some  wreckage  by 
a  passing  ship,  going  for  Marseilles.  Ward 
escaped  with  his  life,  owing  to  his  skill  as  a  boat- 
man; for  while  the  storm  was  at  its  worst  he  left 
the  Soderina  in  a  boat,  in  which  he  managed  to  get 
aboard  the  Little  John.  The  news  of  the  disaster 
reached  Tunis  before  him  through  the  five  sur- 
vivors who  had  been  taken  to  Marseilles.  When 
Ward  returned  there,  after  his  cruise,  he  "was 
nearly  torn  in  pieces  by  the  Janissaries,"  who  were 
furious  with  him  for  his  desertion  of  the  flag-ship, 
and  for  the  loss  of  so  many  true  believers.     It  cost 


CAPTAIN   JOHN    WARD  81 

Ward  a  large  portion  of  his  treasure  to  regain  the 
confidence  of  his  allies. 

Shortly  after  the  loss  of  the  Soderina,  an  English- 
man of  the  name  of  Pepwell,  in  the  service  of  the 
English  Lord  Admiral,  went  to  Tunis  to  convert 
Ward  to  a  better  habit  of  life.  He  failed  to  move 
that  stony  heart,  as  he  failed,  directly  afterwards, 
in  a  plot  to  poison  him.  While  he  reasoned  with, 
or  tried  to  poison,  Ward,  that  worthy's  seamen 
were  not  idle.  "They  so  won  his  (Pepwell's) 
sailors  that  they  became  pirates,"  leaving  Pepwell 
to  come  home  as  best  he  might.  There  were 
several  pirates  lying  at  Tunis,  all  of  them  sub- 
ordinate to  Ward,  and  Pepwell  at  last  won  one  of 
them,  a  Captain  Bishop,  to  give  him  a  passage  to 
Venice.  At  Venice  he  gave  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  the 
English  Ambassador,  a  minute  account  of  Ward. 
He  describes  him  as  being  "about  fifty-five  years 
of  age.  Very  short,  with  little  hair,  and  that 
quite  white;  bald  in  front;  swarthy  face  and 
beard.  Speaks  little,  and  almost  always  swear- 
ing. Drunk  from  morn  till  night.  Most  prodi- 
gal and  plucky.  Sleeps  a  great  deal,  and  often 
on    board    when    in    port.      The    habits    of    a 


82  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

thorough  'salt.'  A  fool  and  an  idiot  out  of  his 
trade." 

During  the  next  few  years,  in  spite  of  various 
losses,  Ward  seems  to  have  prospered.  It  is  said 
that  he  made  a  cruise  to  Ireland,  with  seven  hun- 
dred men,  and  that  he  offered  King  James  £40,000 
for  a  pardon,  which  was  refused.  When  he  heard 
that  his  offer  had  been  unavailing,  he  determined 
to  settle  down  at  Tunis.  His, old  friend  "Crossy- 
man,"  gave  him  the  remains  of  a  castle,  which  he 
repaired  with  marble  and  alabaster,  till  it  was  "a 
very  stately  house  far  more  fit  for  a  prince  than  a 
pirate."  He  lived  there,  when  not  at  sea,  "in  a 
most  princely  and  magnificent  state.  His  apparel 
both  curious  and  costly,  his  diet  sumptuous."  He 
had  two  cooks  to  dress  and  prepare  his  diet  for 
him,  "and  his  taster  before  he  eats."  "I  do  not 
knowe  any  peere  in  England,"  says  his  biographer, 
"that  bears  up  his  post  in  more  dignity." 

It  is  not  known  how  and  when  he  died.  Dan- 
sekar,  his  old  ally,  obtained  a  pardon  from 
Henri  IV  of  France,  and  entered  the  service  of  the 
Duke  of  Guise.  Ward,  as  far  as  we  can  learn,  was 
never  pardoned.     "He  lived  there,  in  Tunis,"  in 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   WARD  83 

his  marble  palace,  where  William  Lithgow,  the 
traveller,  had  supper  with  him,  in  the  year  16 15. 
Some  say  that  Ward  was  drowned  off  Crete,  and 
others  that  the  Turks  poisoned  him.  Both  accounts 
are  highly  probable.  It  may  be  that,  in  his  old  age, 
he  bought  a  pardon  from  a  needy  statesman,  and 
settled  down  to  die  in  Plymouth,  where  the  ale  was 
so  good,  and  the  company  so  congenial.  He  shares 
with  Bartholomew  Roberts  the  throne  of  English 
piracy.  Those  two  alone,  of  the  many  who  were 
called  to  the  profession,  practised  it  ever  with  a 
certain  style,  with  some  pretensions  to  the  grand 
manner. 

There  is  much  literature  concerning  Ward. 
There  are  several  ballads,  of  varying  merit,  de- 
scribing an  imaginary  fight  between  his  cruiser 
and  a  ship  called  the  Rainbow,  a  King's  ship  sent 
to  capture  him.  As  Professor  Laughton  has  pointed 
out,  the  real  Rainbow  never  fought  with  Ward. 
Perhaps  the  name  Rainbow  is  a  corruption  or 
popular  version  of  Tramontana,  the  name  of  a  small 
cruiser,  which  may  once  have  chased  him  in  the 
Irish  Channel.  In  addition  to  the  ballads,  there  is 
a  play  called   "A  Christian  turn'd  Turk,"   by  a 


84  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

poet  named  Robert  Daborne.  The  play  treats  of 
Ward  and  his  associates.  It  is  based  upon  two 
chapbooks  concerning  him;  the  one  called  "Newes 
from  Sea"  (dated  1609),  the  other  (far  superior) 
by  Andrew  Barker,  called  "A  True  and  Certaine 
Report,"  first  published  in  the  same  year.  There 
are  numerous  contemporary  references  to  him. 
The  best  known  is  that  in  Ben  Jonson's  "Al- 
chemist," act  v,  scene  2.  There  are  others  in 
Howell's  Letters;  in  a  play  by  Dekker  ("If  it  be 
not  a  good  Play"),  in  Donne's  15th  Elegy,  and  in 
the  "Observations  of  Captain  John  Smith."  More 
trustworthy  authorities  concerning  him  are  in  the 
Venetian  Series  of  State  Papers,  1603- 16 10;  and 
in  the  Irish  Series  of  State  Papers,  1606- 1608.  It 
may  be  added  that  the  Sieur  de  Breves,  a  French 
Ambassador,  gives  Ward,  or  "Wer,"  the  credit 
of  having  taught  the  Moorish  pirates  to  cruise  in 
sailing-ships.  Until  his  coming  they  relied  on 
their  galleys,  which  were  excellent,  but  severely 
limited  in  their  application  to  the  art  of  piracy. 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  85 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS1 

It  is  not  known  where  John  Jennings  was  born; 
but  it  was  almost  certainly  near  the  sea;  and  per- 
haps we  should  not  be  far  wrong  in  saying  that 
his  parents  were  fisher  folk,  living  on  the  South 
Coast.  He  was  born,  certainly,  of  poor  parents; 
for  his  nameless  biographer  tells  us  that  "his  edu- 
cation was  so  meane  and  low,  he  could  neither 
write  nor  read."  The  date  of  his  birth  does  not 
appear,  but  possibly  1570,  or  a  few  years  earlier, 
would  be  near  the  truth.  He  grew  up  "wholly 
addicted  to  martial  courses,  and  especially  in  the 

1  The  authorities  for  the  life  of  Captain  John  Jennings 
are :  ( 1 )  A  chapbook  of  "The  Lives,  Apprehensions,  Ar- 
raignments and  Executions  of  the  19  late  Pyrates, 
namely,  Capt.  Harris,  Jennings,  Longcastle,  Downes, 
Haulsey,  and  their  companions,  as  they  were  severally 
indited  on  St.  Margret's  Hill,  in  Southwark,  on  the  22 
of  December  last  and  executed  on  the  Friday  following. 
London.  Printed  for  John  Busby  the  Elder  ( 1609)  ; 
4to;  black  letter;  30  pp."  This  document  is  very 
brightly  and  freshly  written  and  generally  accurate  in 
that  part  of  it  which  relates  to  our  hero.  (2)  The 
documents  in  the  Record  Office  (Cal.  S.  P.  Dom.  1603- 


86  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

manly  resolution  of  sea-faring  men."  When  he 
was  a  boy  he  shipped  himself  to  sea,  to  scrub  the 
cans  in  the  galley,  to  say  his  compass  to  the 
boatswain,  and  to  be  whipped  at  the  capstan  every 
Monday  morning,  so  that  his  ship  might  have  a 
fair  wind.  When  he  grew  older,  he  took  his  share 
in  the  work  aloft,  and  learned  how  to  point  and 
parcel,  how  to  hold  his  own  in  a  forecastle,  and 
how  to  load  and  fire  a  great  gun.  "I  grew,"  he 
says,  "to  beare  the  name  of  a  skilful  marriner.  .  .  . 
I  grew  ambitious  straight,  to  have  a  whole  com- 

10 ;  S.  P.  Venetian,  1607-10,  and  (especially)  Irish 
Series,  1608-10). 

An  entry  in  the  Stationers'  register  mentions  a  poem 
by  Jennings.    The  entry  runs : 

ipno  Marcij   [1610-1] 
Richard  Jones  Entred  for  his  Copyes, 

Captayne    Jenninges    his    songe,    whiche 
he  made  in  the  Marshalsey  and  songe  a 
little  before  his  death.     Item  the  second 
parte   of   the    "George   Aloo"   and    the 
"  Swiftestake  "  (Sweepstake)  beinge  both 
ballades. 
Both  poems  appear  to  have  perished.    The  first  part 
of  the  second  ballad,  "  The  George  Aloe  (of  Looe)  and 
the  Sweepstake,  too"    (quoted   in   "Two  Noble  Kins- 
men"), may  be  seen  in  Professor  Child's  "English  and 
Scottish  Popular  Ballads,"  vol.  v,  p.  133,  4,  5. 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  87 

mand,  and  held  it  baseness  to  live  under  checke." 
He  "likt  well,"  he  says,  "to  see  a  captain  give 
an  order,  and  he  obeyed  on  the  instant."  He  also 
"likt  well"  to  riot  ashore,  with  good  Plymouth 
ale,  and  other  carnal  matters,  not  obtainable  by  the 
foremost  hand,  when  at  sea. 

As  he  saw  no  chance  of  rising  to  a  command  in 
the  navy  or  in  the  merchant  service,  he  resolved 
to  command  independently.  In  some  seaport  he 
gathered  a  "retchless  crue"  of  rioters  together; 
led  them  to  the  cutting  out  of  a  ship  in  the  harbour, 
and  ran  away  with  her  to  sea.  This  was  in  the 
last  years  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  at  a 
time  when  the  King  of  Spain  was  at  war  with 
Holland.  Jennings*  first  move  was  to  make  for 
himself  "a  safe  refuge  and  retirement"  in  Dun- 
kirk; probably  by  a  money  payment  to  the 
governor;  and  then  having  obtained  a  base,  where 
he  could  revictual  and  careen,  he  began  to  play 
the  pirate  and  to  scour  the  Channel.  He  did  not 
attack  the  English ;  but  like  John  Ward,  his  great 
contemporary,  he  found  his  account  in 
The  jovial  Dutchman 
As  he  met  on  the  main. 


88  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

It  is  possible  that  at  this  time  he  was  a  Roman 
Catholic,  and  that  he  omitted  to  attack  the  French 
and  Spanish  ships  on  religious  grounds.  How- 
ever, there  could  have  been  few  Spanish  ships 
either  safe  to  attack  or  worth  attacking  so  far  to 
the  north;  and  no  doubt  the  "Dutch  fly-boats, 
pinks,  and  passengers"  brought  his  gang  enough 
good  spoils;  both  of  "ready  chinkes"  and  prov- 
ender. He  soon  became  notorious.  The  Dutch 
complained  to  the  English  government;  and  ships 
were  sent  to  cruise  for  him.  His  own  ship,  like 
most  pirate  ships,  was  chosen  from  many  prizes 
for  her  speed.  By  his  ship's  speed  and  his  own 
vigilance  he  escaped  the  cruisers  for  a  long  time; 
but  at  last,  through  too  much  aqua-vitae,  or  an 
unlucky  shot,  he  was  caught,  and  carried  to 
England,  where  he  was  lodged  in  the  Marshalsea 
in  irons,  to  wait  for  the  next  gaol  delivery.  His 
ship  was  either  restored  to  her  owners  or  sold  to 
cover  expenses.  The  terror  of  the  Channel  was 
now  a  plucked  crow  in  a  cage,  with  nothing  to 
expect  but  a  hempen  cord,  and  present  death  at 
Wapping  Stairs. 

His   sister   heard    of    his   arrest,    and    at   once 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  89 

began  to  petition  the  merchants  he  had  robbed, 
that  they  should  not  press  their  suits.  Her  brother, 
she  told  them,  was  a  man  who  might  be  of  die 
greatest  service  to  them;  he  was  a  reformed 
character,  who  had  pledged  his  honour  to  live 
virtuously  in  the  future;  he  was  a  man  of  whom 
any  country  might  be  proud;  and  much  more  to 
the  same  tune.  Was  this  a  man  to  send  to  the 
gallows,  with  your  common  Jesuit  and  your  pick- 
purse?  Why?  It  was  "proudly  spoken"  of 
Captain  Jennings,  "that  not  a  man  in  Christendom 
could  stop  a  leak  under  water  better  than  he";  if 
"without  boasting"  (as  he  himself  says),  "so  wel" 
as  he.  It  was  true  that  he  had  been  a  little  fresh 
or  so;  but  then  the  sea  air,  and  youth,  were  great 
provocatives;  and  it  was,  after  all,  by  men  like 
Jennings  that  our  imperial  destiny  was  maintained. 
By  blarney  of  this  kind,  and  by  suggesting  that 
the  courage  and  energy  of  their  prisoner  might 
really  do  them  good  service,  the  girl  persuaded 
the  merchants  to  petition  the  Queen  for  the  life  of 
him  who  had  robbed  them.  Jennings  was  pardoned 
for  his  two  worst  offences;  his  prison  charges 
were   paid;    and   one   of   the    Holland   merchants 


po  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

(who  perhaps  feared  a  relapse)  gave  him  the  com- 
mand of  a  fine  fly-boat,  and  sent  him  to  sea  to 
carry  wool  and  wine. 

He  did  not  succeed  as  a  sea-captain.  Aboard 
that  Holland  fly-boat  there  was  "barratry  of  the 
master  and  mate,"  if  nothing  worse,  so  that  she 
did  not  pay  for  her  tar  and  tallow.  The  pay  of  a 
sea-captain  was  small,  and  the  proud  heart  of 
Jennings  did  not  like  the  reproofs  of  his  employers. 
The  fly-boat  was  strongly  built,  and  no  doubt 
carried  half-a-dozen  quick-firing  guns.  Jennings 
waited  for  a  good  opportunity,  corrupted  the 
hearts  of  his  sailors,  and  then  ran  away  with  ship, 
crew,  and  furniture,  to  try  the  fortune  of  the  sea 
once  more,  "on  the  bonny  coasts  of  Barbary."  As 
he  steered  south,  he  sighted  a  Spanish  caravel. 
He  fired  his  little  guns  into  her,  laid  her  aboard, 
and  made  her  his  prize.  Then  he  sailed  on  again, 
till  he  reached  the  Barbary  coast. 

As  soon  as  he  arrived  at  Safi  he  was  seized  by 
the  Dey  and  flung  into  prison;  where  he  found 
other  English  pirates,  waiting  for  the  bowstring 
or  the  galleys,  to  tell  him  the  reason  for  this  harsh 
reception.     The  pirates  had  agreed  with  the  Dey, 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  91 

it  seems,  on  the  half-share  system.  The  Dey  sup- 
plied hands,  stores,  a  fortified  base,  and  good 
careenage;  the  pirates  gave  in  return  one-half  of 
all  their  spoils,  either  slaves  or  goods,  at  the  end 
of  each  cruise.  The  pirates  had  broken  their  con- 
tracts, and  the  Dey  had  therefore  imprisoned 
them;  sending  Jennings  with  the  rest  to  deter 
him  from  a  similar  lapse  in  time  to  come.  He 
stayed  in  prison  till  he  had  paid  to  the  Dey  a 
large  share  of  his  Spanish  prize.  Then  he  was 
released,  with  permission  to  fit  his  fly-boat  for  the 
sea. 

We  cannot  date  his  coming  to  San*;  but  it 
must  have  been  a  few  years  after  the  accession  of 
James  I.  England  was  then  at  peace  with  the 
world.  There  was  no  "flourishing  employment" 
for  seamen.  Those  "haughty  hearts"  who  had 
been  with  Drake  at  Cartagena,  with  Newport  at 
Truxillo,  or  with  Essex  at  Fayal,  picking  up  "a 
few  crowns,  a  few  reasonable  booties"  had  now 
"to  picke  up  crums  at  a  low  ebb";  and  to  vail 
their  sea-bonnets  to  "such  as  pearkt  up  their 
heads  to  authority  in  this  time  of  quiet."  There 
was  nothing  stirring   against   Spain.     The  ships 


92  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

which  had  humbled  Sidonia  lay  rotting  at  their 
moorings,  with  grass  growing  on  their  decks. 
Such  men-of-war  as  were  commissioned  were 
manned  by  vagrants  and  thieves,  who  deserted 
when  they  could.  In  these  circumstances,  any 
sailor  who  had  seen  the  "daies  of  bickering,"  and 
had  a  passion  for  glory  in  him,  was  strongly 
tempted  to  turn  pirate.  A  very  great  number  of 
them  did  so.  During  the  first  years  of  the  reign 
of  James  I  the  seamen  who  had  made  Elizabeth's 
navy  what  it  was  brought  their  skill  and  craft  to 
the  making  of  a  pirate  navy,  which  can  only  be 
compared  to  the  buccaneer  fleets  of  Morgan, 
Mansvelt,  Sawkins,  and  Edward  Davis,  some 
seventy  years  later.  In  the  Mediterranean,  they 
made  themselves  bases  among  the  Turks  and 
Moors.  They  settled  in  hordes  at  Algiers,  at 
Safi,  and  at  Tunis.  They  taught  the  Moors  the 
use  of  square  sails,  and  filled  the  gaps  in  their 
crews  with  Mussulmans  and  renegades  to  whom 
piracy  was  a  second  nature  and  an  honour- 
able calling.  From  the  crook  of  the  Algerine 
mole,  and  from  the  sharp  gut  of  the  Goletta,  these 
English  seamen  sailed  out  against  the  merchants 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  93 

of  Spain  and  Italy.  They  were  a  ruinous  hindrance 
to  all  Mediterranean  traders.  Their  spoils  were 
enormous;  and  they  were  able  to  live  in  luxury 
and  riot,  "more  like  princes  than  pirates,"  after 
paying  the  Dey  his  share. 

In  the  Channel,  they  made  their  bases  among 
the  creeks  and  bays  of  South-Western  Ireland, 
notably  in  Dingle  Bay  and  Bantry  Bay,  where 
there  are  sheltering  islands,  to  hide  them  from  any 
wandering  cruiser.  They  had  little  to  fear  from  the 
King's  ships;  for  almost  the  only  cruiser  on  the 
coast  was  a  small,  ill-manned  ship  of  200  tons, 
which  could  only  keep  the  seas  during  the  summer 
months.  The  pirate  ships  were  generally  better 
found  than  the  King's  ships;  and,  as  they  were 
kept  clean  by  frequent  careening,  they  had  the 
heels  of  them  if  it  came  to  a  chase.  "The  English 
are  good  sailors,"  said  one  who  knew,  "but  they 
are  better  pirates."  Before  Jennings  fell,  an 
organized  fleet  of  pirates  kept  the  south  coast  of 
Ireland  in  a  state  of  siege,  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
They  were  disciplined  like  a  fleet  of  King's  ships, 
and  so  powerful  that  they  could  land  300  men 
at  any  point,  at  short  notice.     The  business  which 


94  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

Jennings  followed  was  at  least  carried  on  in  some 
style. 

While  he  lay  at  Safi,  some  allies  of  John  Ward, 
two  Tunisian  pirates,  named  Bishop  and  Roope, 
put  in  there  for  wood  and  water.  Jennings  made 
a  compact  with  them,  and  accompanied  them  on  a 
roving  cruise,  in  which  they  took  a  huge  booty,  to 
spend  in  riot  ashore.  Bishop  quarrelled  with  his 
partners  during  their  stay  ashore:  so  that  Roope 
and  Jennings  sailed  without  him,  when  they  next 
put  to  sea.  Roope's  ship  sprang  a  leak  during  the 
cruise,  so  he  and  his  seamen  came  aboard  Captain 
Jennings*.  They  took  a  Spanish  fly-boat,  and  sent 
her  north,  in  the  care  of  some  pirates,  for  sale  in 
Dunkirk,  but  she  was  captured  by  an  English 
man-of-war. 

After  this  capture,  the  allies  sailed  into  the 
Channel,  and  snapped  up  some  French  wine  ships 
off  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Off  the  Land's  End,  they 
took  a  ship  of  Bristol,  with  a  valuable  general 
cargo,  which  they  trans-shipped.  Off  the  Scilly 
Islands  they  took  a  French  ship  "laden  with 
brasse,  and  other  rich  commodities";  and  then 
they  ran  short  of  provisions,  and  bore  up  for  Balti- 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  95 

more.  At  Baltimore  they  sent  in  the  purser  "to 
deale  with  the  Kernes  for  hogges  to  victuall  withal." 
They  had  a  tender  with  them,  a  small  Spanish 
caravel,  a  lately  taken  prize,  when  they  appeared 
off  the  town,  so  that  the  Baltimore  authorities, 
seeing  the  ships  in  company,  could  have  had  no 
doubt  of  what  they  were.  Jennings  realized  that 
the  authorities  might  not  care  to  sell  their  hogs  to 
people  of  his  way  of  life.  In  the  long-boat  which 
bore  the  purser,  he  sent  "a  token  of  familiaritie" 
to  the  governor  of  the  town;  the  said  token  being 
"19  or  20  chests  of  sugers"  and  4  chests  of  fine 
scarlet  coral.  For  this  bountiful  bribe  they  received 
permission  to  wood,  water  and  reprovision;  and 
also,  it  seems,  to  sell  some  of  their  spoils  to  the 
citizens.  While  he  lay  at  Baltimore,  Jennings  "fell 
in  liking  with  an  Irish  woman"  whom  he  carried 
with  him  to  sea,  in  spite  of  the  growlings  of  his 
men,  who  swore  that  the  compass  would  never 
traverse  right,  nor  a  fair  wind  blow  with  a  female 
living  aft.  It  was  all  through  hsr,  they  said,  that 
they  met  the  King's  cruiser  as  they  left  Baltimore 
Road;  and  it  was  all  through  her  that  they  had  to 
cut  and  run  for  it,  instead  of  making  her  a  prize. 


96  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

A  few  days  later,  they  had  another  stroke  of  bad 
luck,  undoubtedly  due  to  the  presence  of  a  female 
aboard.  They  attacked  two  Spanish  ships  who 
fought  them  courageously  and  gave  them  a  batter- 
ing. Ten  good  men  were  killed  and  more  than 
twenty  badly  hit,  Jennings  himself  being  one  of 
the  wounded. 

At  the  end  of  a  watch,  of  a  watch  so  severe 
There  \ws  ccarcely  a  man  left  was  able  for  to  steer, 
There  was  scarcely  a  man  left  could  fire  off  a  gun, 
And  the  blood  down  the  deck  like  a  river  it  did  run. 

Jennings  had  to  sheer  off  in  distress  under  such 
sail  as  he  could  carry  and  be  thankful  that  the 
Spaniards  did  not  give  chase.  The  seamen  made 
some  repairs,  and  then  held  a  fo'c's'le  council  about 
the  Irish  woman  in  the  cabin.  "See  what  comes," 
they  said,  "of  carrying  women  to  sea."  They 
agreed  in  the  end  that  their  defeat  was  "a  just 
judgment  of  God  against  them";  not  for  any  little 
robberies  or  murders  which  they  had  done,  but  for 
"suffering  their  captaine  .  .  to  wallow  in  his 
luxuries."  Why  should  he  have  his  luxury  any 
more  than  the  rest  of  the  crew?  Captain  Roope 
was  insistent  with  this  question  till  the  crew  swore 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  97 

that  they  would  put  an  end  to  these  Babylonish 
practices  once  for  all.  "In  a  giddy  manner,"  they 
broke  into  the  captain's  cabin,  and  "boldly  began 
to  reprove  his  conduct."  Wounded  as  he  was, 
John  Jennings  started  from  his  cot,  seized  "a 
trunchion,"  or  handy  belaying  pin,  and  banged 
about  him  till  he  had  "beaten  them  all  to  a  bay." 
As  he  got  his  breath,  they  rushed  in  upon  him  a 
second  time,  and  drove  him  aft  into  the  gun-room. 
He  bolted  the  door  against  them;  but  they  fired  on 
him  through  the  key-hole.  Then  Captain  Roope 
quieted  the  mutineers,  set  a  guard  at  the  gun-room 
door,  and  took  command  of  the  ship. 

He  was  "a  man  of  more  stern  and  obdurate  na- 
ture than  Jennings  was."  He  hazed  his  hands  with 
unnecessary  work  till  they  longed  for  the  old  or- 
der, with  good  Babylonish  Jennings  in  command. 
They  released  their  old  captain ;  and  as  soon  as  they 
had  taken  another  ship,  they  put  Captain  Roope 
from  command,  and  restored  Jennings  to  his  doxy 
and  his  quarterdeck. 

The  taking  of  this  new  ship  was  a  serious  matter. 
She  was  a  richly-laden  Amsterdam  ship,  of  180 
tons,  manned  by  French  and  Dutch  sailors.     She 


98  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

fought  valiantly,  for  several  hours,  costing  the 
pirates  a  sore  mauling  and  the  loss  of  sixty  men 
killed  and  wounded.  Jennings  had  been  shaken  by 
his  wound,  and  by  the  late  mutiny.  His  ship  was 
battered  and  broken.  He  was  short  of  men  and 
provisions;  his  decks  were  full  of  wounded;  and 
"he  desired  now  in  heart  he  might  make  his 
peace  .  .  .  although  with  the  tender  of  all  he  had." 
His  first  step  was  to  put  in  at  Baltimore,  where  he 
hoped  to  submit  himself  to  the  Lord  Clanricarde, 
and  to  obtain  refreshments.  When  he  came  to 
Baltimore,  he  sent  in  his  boat  with  another  present 
to  buy  him  a  fair  reception,  but  his  boat's  crew 
deserted,  without  making  any  overtures,  and 
Jennings,  fearing  that  his  men  had  been  arrested, 
put  to  sea  at  once,  intending  to  sail  to  the  Shannon, 
to  try  the  Earl  of  Thomond. 

On  his  way  to  the  Shannon,  he  called  at  various 
ports  to  get  refreshments.  His  men  rummaged 
through  most  of  the  towns  on  the  coast,  "and 
impeacht  even  their  ordinary  trade,"  though  Lord 
Danvers  did  his  best  to  stop  them  by  ordering  all 
provisions  to  be  carried  far  inland.  In  the  middle 
of  January  1609,  the  two  ships  anchored  in  the 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  99 

Shannon,  not  far  from  Limerick,  in  the  country  of 
the  Earl  of  Thomond,  to  whom  the  pirates  wrote 
the  following  letter : 

Right  Honourable,  we  beseech  your  Lordship  to 
suffer  us  so  far  to  imboulden  ourselves  upon  your  lord- 
ship's favour,  as  to  be  our  mediator  unto  our  Lord 
Deputy,  for  ye  pardoning  of  our  offences,  assuring  your 
Lordship  that  we  never  offended  any  of  the  King's  sub- 
jects. If  your  L  will  undertake  the  obtaining  of  our 
pardon,  we  will  deliver  over,  unto  my  L  deputy  and 
your  L  the  ship  that  we  have  now,  with  such  lading  and 
commodities  as  we  have  hereunder  written;  further 
desiring  your  L  in  regard  of  the  foulness  of  the  weather, 
besides  the  eating  up  of  my  vitles  that  we  may  hear  from 
the  Lord  deputy  within  this  14  dayes,  for  longer  we  may 
not  stay ;  for  ye  country  upon  your  L  command  will  not 
relieve  us  with  any  victuals.  Theis  are  the  parcels  and 
commodities. 

20  peces  of  ordnance,  saker  and  minion  (5  pr  and 
4  pr  M  L  guns). 

7  murtherers    (small   B   L  guns  of  a  mortar  type, 
firing  dice  shot). 
40  chests  of  sugars. 

4  bags  of  pepper. 
12     ?    and  chists  of  sinamond. 

4  bags  of  Spanish  woll. 

1  barrell  of  waxe  &  a  boykett. 

4  chists  of  soap. 


ioo  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

I  canne  of  brasse,  with  cabells,  anchers  &  all  neces- 
saries fitting  a  ship  of  her  burthen,  being  300  tons;  all 
wh  shall  be  delivered  if  it  please  ye  L  deputie;  I  onlie 
desire  a  general  pardon  my  self,  and  these  men,  whose 
names  shall  be  written  underneath;  with  a  passe  for  all 
my  companie  to  travell  where  it  please  them,  for  the  wh 
we  shall  wish  all  increase  of  happiness  to  yr  L  from  ye 
River  of  Shannon  this  23  of  Jan.  1608. 

Your  L    (word  servants  erased  in  another  ink)    to 
commaunde 

John  Jeninges 

kldwell  als  cadwallader  trevor 

GlLB    ROOPE 

Peter  Jacobson. 
The  Earl  of  Thomond  received  this  letter,  and 
weighed  it  carefully.  By  means  of  spies  "he  dis- 
cerned a  disposition"  among  some  of  the  pirates 
"even  to  enterprise  upon  their  fellows."  He  wished 
to  enter  into  no  composition  with  such  a  man  as 
Jennings  if  other  means  could  be  found  to  bring 
him  in.  He  therefore  temporized;  sent  his  sons 
aboard  to  see  the  pirate  ships,  and  allowed  them 
to  take  costly  gifts  from  their  captains.  One  of  his 
spies  offered  to  take  Jennings  single  handed;  but 
for  this  bold  deed  the  spy  demanded  the  whole  of 
Jennings'  booty.  The  Earl  gave  him  no  encourage- 
ment but  told  him  he  might  try,   if  he  wished. 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  101 

Meanwhile  he  continued  to  sound  Captain  Roope 
and  others  of  the  pirates,  for  signs  of  disaffection. 

He  did  not  feel  himself  strong  enough  to  attack 
the  ships;  but  by  March  1609,  he  had  engaged 
four  of  the  pirates — Trevor,  Roope,  a  man  called 
Drake,  and  Peter  Jacobson,  the  sailing  master — to 
deliver  ship  and  goods  to  his  Majesty,  when  called 
upon.  On  the  night  of  the  20th  March,  he  went 
aboard  her  with  a  guard.  The  traitors  handed 
over  the  ship,  as  they  had  promised,  and  though 
Jennings,  or  some  faithful  hand,  destroyed  the 
Earl's  right  arm,  the  struggle  was  soon  over,  and 
the  sea-hawk  was  safely  caged  in  one  of  the  Earl's 
gaols. 

Jennings'  ship  was  not  worth  very  much.  Most 
of  her  men  left  her,  and  put  to  sea  in  the  prize, 
directly  her  captain  had  been  taken.  The  Earl 
overhauled  her  as  soon  as  he  could.  He  wrote  how 
"the  Comodities  aboard  is  butt  ordinairie,  and  a 
lytell  sugers  wh  is  so  blacke  as  yt  is  worth  but 
lytell  in  this  land."  She  is  very  chargeable,  he 
says,  lying  in  the  best  road  in  the  river.  She  could 
not  be  careened,  as  she  was  "to  weke,"  and  she 
was  so  much  battered,  she  was  really  worthless. 


102  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

What  became  of  her  does  not  appear.  Her  guns,  her 
chists  of  sinamond,  and  her  solitary  boykett  were 
put  ashore,  and  the  rest  of  her  was  probably  sold 
to  the  highest  bidder,  for  firewood  and  building 
material.  The  Earl  thought  that  her  seamen  car- 
ried off  the  best  of  the  spoil  in  their  "great 
breeches."  His  wound  had  kept  him  from  watch- 
ing them  at  the  time  of  the  capture;  so  the  booty, 
setting  aside  Jennings,  "in  his  light  doublet  and 
hose,"  was  but  paltry.  As  for  Jennings,  he  was 
sent  over  to  Chester,  in  July  1609;  and  from 
Chester,  by  easy  stages,  he  came  to  London  for  trial, 
and  lodged  once  more  in  the  Marshalsea  prison. 

In  the  Marshalsea,  he  behaved  himself  with  be- 
coming courage.  "He  lived  a  careless  life,"  says 
his  biographer.  "One  being  merry  drinking  with 
him  once,  demanded  of  him"  how  he  had  lived 
at  sea?  He  replied  that  he  had  ever  rejoiced 
more  to  hear  the  cannon  than  the  sound  of  the 
church  bell,  and  that  he  fought  not  "as  chickens 
fight,"  for  meat;  "but  for  store  of  gold,  to  main- 
tain riot."  At  another  time,  in  hot  weather,  as  he 
sat  drinking  with  friends  in  the  prison  parlour,  it 
was  observed  that  he  sat  with  his  face  in  the  sun, 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   JENNINGS  103 

in  contempt  of  headache.  "I  shall  hang  in  the  sun, 
shortly,"  he  said,  "and  then  my  neck  will  ache.  I 
do  but  practise  now."  Later,  in  the  autumn,  there 
was  a  fall  of  snow;  so  that  he  could  cheer  up  his 
heart  with  a  game  at  snowballs.  Then  his  old 
friend  Captain  Harris,  whom  he  had  known  in 
Barbary,  was  committed  to  the  Marshalsea;  to 
comfort  him  with  fellowship  and  cups  of  sack.  It 
was  reported  that  the  two  were  "mad  drunke" 
together;  but  that  was  calumny.  They  were  only 
"orderly  merry"  together;  and  they  had  now  but 
little  time  either  for  merriment  or  for  sorrow.  At 
the  trial,  Jennings  did  his  best  to  save  two  of  his 
crew;  who,  as  he  told  the  Court,  had  been  com- 
pelled to  turn  pirates  at  the  pistol  muzzle.  "Alas, 
my  Lord,"  he  cried  to  the  Judge,  "what  would 
you  have  these  poor  men  say  .  .  if  anything  they 
have  done  they  were  compelled  unto  it  by  me;  'tis 
I  must  answer  for  it." 

All  three  were  condemned  in  spite  of  his  pleading 
(Dec.  3rd,  1609) ;  but  five  days  later  they  obtained 
a  respite;  as  the  King  hoped  to  obtain  information 
from  them,  to  help  him  in  the  extirpation  of  other 
pirates.  It  was  not  till  the  22nd  of  December  that 
they  were  led  out  to  suffer.    John  Buries,  the  curate 


104  A   MAINSAIL    HAUL 

of  St.  Bennet's,  attended  John  Jennings.  The 
others  had  their  own  priests,  and  as  their  irons 
were  knocked  off  they  raised  their  voices  in  the 
penitential  psalms.  Buries  was  very  grieved  for  Jen- 
nings. "A  marvellous  proper  man,"  he  notes  sadly. 
He  might  have  been  a  hero,  under  a  better  King. 

They  were  rowed  to  Wapping  in  wherries,  to 
the  sound  of  the  rogue's  march  beaten  on  a  drum. 
They  looked  their  last  on  ships  and  river,  glad,  it 
would  seem,  to  be  at  last  free  of  them.  It  was  a 
fine  sunny  morning;  and  the  sailors  on  the  ships  at 
anchor  bade  them  cheer  up,  as  they  rowed  past. 
When  they  came  to  the  Stairs,  Jennings  made  a 
speech  (there  was  a  great  crowd),  bidding  his  two 
men  to  follow  him  as  fearlessly  as  they  had  followed 
him  of  old,  when  the  shot  was  flying.  Some  pirates 
on  these  occasions  used  to  tear  up  their  "crimson 
taffety  breeches,"  to  give  the  rags  as  keepsakes  to 
those  who  stood  by.  No  breeches  were  torn  on 
this  occasion.  The  dying  men  spoke  briefly  to  the 
crowd,  regretting  their  sins:  then  prayed  for  a 
few  moments  with  their  priests,  and  died  cheerfully, 
singing  psalms,  one  after  the  other,  "like  good 
fellows." 


THE   VOYAGE    OF   THE   CYGNET      105 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE     CYGNET 

In  the  year  1683-4  some  eminent  London  mer- 
chants, fired  by  the  perusal  of  the  buccaneer 
accounts  of  South  America  (the  journals  of  Sharp, 
Ringrose,  Cox,  and  others),  conceived  a  scheme 
for  opening  up  a  trade  with  Peru  and  Chili.  They 
subscribed  among  themselves  a  large  sum  for  the 
equipment  and  lading  of  a  ship.  The  Duke  of 
York,  then  Lord  Admiral,  gave  the  project  his 
princely  patronage.  A  ship,  the  Cygnet,  was 
chosen  and  fitted  for  the  voyage,  and  a  trusty 
master  mariner,  one  esteemed  by  Henry  Morgan, 
was  appointed  her  captain.  This  was  Charles 
Swan,  or  Swann,  a  man  whose  surname  eminently 
fitted  him  for  the  command  of  a  ship  so  christened. 
Following  the  custom  of  the  time,  two  merchants, 
or  supercargoes,  took  passage  with  Captain  Swan 
to  dispose  of  the  lading,  and  to  open  up  the  trade. 
The  Cygnet  sailed  from  the  Thames  with  a  costly 
general   cargo,    which   was   designed   not   only   to 


106  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

establish  just  relations  with  the  Spanish-Americans, 
but  to  pay  her  owners  from  50  to  75  per  cent.  As 
the  voyage  was  not  without  interest  we  propose  to 
consider  some  of  its  most  striking  events. 

We  are  sorry  to  have  to  state  that  by  October 
1684,  Captain  Swan  had  become  a  buccaneer,  and 
his  ship,  the  Cygnet,  the  flagship  of  a  small  squadron 
cruising  on  the  coast  of  Peru,  against  the  subjects 
of  the  King  of  Spain,  with  whom  we  were  then  at 
peace.  Swan  had  met  with  Captain  Edward  Davis, 
a  buccaneer  of  fame,  and  the  meeting  had  been  too 
much  for  him.  When  the  clay  pot  meets  the  iron 
pot  there  is  usually  a  final  ruin;  and  the  meeting 
put  an  end  to  the  dreams  of  a  South  American 
trade.  "There  was  much  joy  on  all  sides,"  says 
the  chronicler,  writing  of  this  meeting,  but  presum- 
ably the  greater  joy  was  Davis's,  who  gave  Swan 
an  immediate  hint  that  the  Cygnet  was  too  deeply 
fraught  to  make  a  cruiser.  "Therefore  (Captain 
Swan)  by  the  consent  of  the  supercargoes,  got  up 
all  his  goods  on  Deck,  and  sold  to  any  that  would 
buy  upon  trust;  the  rest  was  thrown  overboard  into 
the  sea,  except  fine  goods,  as  Silks,  Muslins, 
Stockings,  &c,   and  except  the  Iron."     The  iron 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   CYGNET      107 

was  saved  for  ballast.    The  other  goods  made  very 
delicate  wear  for  the  fo'c's'le  hands. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  allied  forces  sailed  to 
take  Guayaquil,  but  met  with  no  luck  there,  through 
"one  of  Captain  Davis's  men,  who  showed  himself 
very  forward  to  go  to  the  town,  and  upbraided 
others  with  faintheartedness:  yet  afterwards  con- 
fessed (that  he)  privately  cut  the  string  that  the 
Guide  was  made  fast  with  (and)  when  he  thought 
the  Guide  was  got  far  enough  from  us,  he  cried  out 
that  the  Pilot  was  gone,  and  that  somebody  had 
cut  the  Cord  that  tied  him  .  .  .  and  our  consterna- 
tion was  great,  being  in  the  dark  and  among 
Woods";  so  that  "the  design  was  wholly  dashed." 
After  this  they  sailed  to  the  Bay  of  Panama,  where 
they  planned  to  lie  at  anchor  to  wait  for  the  yearly 
treasure  fleet  from  Lima.  While  they  waited, 
Captain  Swan  sent  a  letter  over  the  Isthmus,  with 
a  message  to  his  employers. 

March  4,  1685. 

Panama  Road. 
Charles  Swann  to  Capt.  John  Wise. 

My  voyage  is  at  an  end.    In  the  Straits  of  Magellan  I 
had  nine  men  run  from  me  in  one  night,  after  they  saw 


108  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

that  they  could  not  prevail  with  me  to  play  the  rogue. 
But  God's  justice  overtook  them,  for  after  weathering 
Cape  Victory  we  met  with  an  extreme  storm  of  long 
continuance,  which  drove  me  down  to  lat  55 °  30'  S  and 
in  which  the  ship  to  which  they  deserted  was  lost.  Then 
I  came  to  Valdivia,  when  I  had  two  men  killed  under  a 
flag  of  truce,  after  three  days'  parley  and  all  oaths 
human  and  divine.  An  ambuscade  of  between  one  and 
two  hundred  men  came  out,  and  fired  upon  a  poor  eight 
of  us  in  the  yawl.  But  God  punished  them  likewise,  as 
we  hear,  we  killing  three  of  their  captains  and  some 
others.  It  is  too  long  to  give  you  an  account  of  all  my 
troubles,  which  were  chiefly  owing  to  the  fact  that  the 
ship  was  meant  to  be  run  away  with.  In  Nicoya  the 
rest  of  my  men  left  me,  so  that,  having  no  one  to  sail 
the  ship,  I  was  forced  to  join  them.  So  that  now  I  am 
in  hostility  with  the  Spaniards,  and  have  taken  and 
burnt  some  towns,  and  have  forced  the  President  of 
Panama  to  send  me  two  men  he  had  taken  from  us. 
The  same  day  270  new  men  came  to  me,  and  we  are  go- 
ing to  take  in  200  more  that  they  left  behind.  We  shall 
soon  be  900  men  in  the  South  Seas.  Assure  my  em- 
ployers that  I  do  all  I  can  to  preserve  their  interest,  and 
that  what  I  do  now  I  could  in  no  wise  prevent.  So  de- 
sire them  to  do  what  they  can  with  the  King  for  me,  for 
as  soon  as  I  can  I  shall  deliver  myself  to  the  King's  jus- 
tice and  I  had  rather  die  than  live  skulking  like  a  vaga- 
bond for  fear  of  death.  The  King  might  make  this 
whole  Kingdom  of  Peru  tributary  to  him  in  two  years' 
time.    We  now  await  the  Spanish  fleet  that  brings  the 


THE   VOYAGE    OF   THE   CYGNET       109 

money  to  Panama.  We  were  resolved  to  fight  them  be- 
fore we  had  reached  this  strength,  and  had  lain  in  wait 
6  months  for  them,  but  now  we  hear  that  they  are  at 
sea,  and  expect  them  every  day.  If  we  have  success 
against  them  we  shall  make  a  desperate  alarm  all  Europe 
over.  I  have  some  money  which  I  wish  were  with  you, 
for  my  wife.  I  shall,  with  God's  help,  do  things  which 
(were  it  with  my  Prince's  leave)  would  make  her  a 
lady;  but  now  I  cannot  tell  but  it  may  bring  me  to  a 
halter.  But  if  it  doth  my  comfort  is  that  I  shall  die  for 
that  I  cannot  help.  Pray  present  my  faithful  love  to  my 
dear  wife,  and  assure  her  she  is  never  out  of  my  mind. 


After  failing  in  his  attempt  upon  the  treasure 
fleet,  Captain  Davis,  the  Buccaneer  Commodore, 
took  his  squadron  towards  Rio  Lejo,  on  the  western 
coast  of  Mexico,  where,  "about  8  leagues  from 
the  shore,"  at  eight  in  the  forenoon,  520  buc- 
caneers, mostly  English,  went  down  the  sides  of 
their  ships  into  their  boats.  There  were  thirty-one 
canoas  for  their  accommodation,  some  of  them  of 
nearly  forty  feet  in  length,  and  five  or  six  feet 
broad.  They  were  "dug-outs"  of  the  most  prim- 
itive type,  but  the  buccaneers  were  not  particular 
as  to  the  build  of  their  crafts.  They  settled  upon 
their  thwarts;  one  of  them  piped  a  song,  "and  the 


no  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

rowers,  sitting  well  in  order,"  began  to  plough  the 
wine-dark  sea. 

At  two  in  the  afternoon,  a  squall  beat  down  upon 
them.  The  sea  rose  with  tropical  swiftness,  so 
that  in  half  an  hour  "some  of  our  Canoas  were 
half  full  of  water,  yet  kept  two  men  constantly 
heaving  it  out."  They  could  do  nothing  but  put 
right  before  the  wind;  yet  with  craft  so  crank  as 
the  canoas  this  expedient  was  highly  dangerous. 
"The  small  Canoas,"  it  is  true,  "being  most  light 
and  buoyant,  mounted  nimbly  over  the  surges,  but 
the  great  heavy  Canoas  lay  like  Logs  in  the  Sea, 
ready  to  be  swallowed  by  every  foaming  Billow." 
However,  the  danger  did  not  last  very  long.  The 
squall  blew  past,  and,  when  the  wind  abated,  the 
sea  went  down;  so  that  by  "7  a  clock  in  the 
Evening,  it  was  quite  calm  and  the  Sea  as  smooth 
as  a  Mill-pond."  They  passed  that  night  in  the 
canoas  five  leagues  from  the  shore,  huddled  any- 
how, with  cramped  limbs.  In  the  morning  they 
stretched  themselves,  and  lay  by,  till  another 
squall  set  them  pulling  for  the  land,  like  the  sea- 
men in  the  temperance  hymn.  In  the  night  of 
August  10   they   entered   Rio   Lejo  harbour,   and 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   CYGNET       in 

slept  peacefully  in  the  shelter  of  the  great  red 
mangrove  trees,  which  rose  up  "plentiful  and 
thick"  from  the  very  lip  of  the  sea. 

When  day  dawned  they  rowed  up  the  Lejo  river. 
A  Spanish  breastwork  stood  upon  the  river  bank 
to  guard  the  passage;  but  its  garrison  was  com- 
posed of  Nicaraguan  Indians,  a  race  "very  Melan- 
choly and  Thoughtful,  and  presently  they  ran  away 
to  give  notice  of  our  Approach."  The  buccaneers 
were  a  little  vexed  at  this  example  of  the  effect  of 
melancholy,  but  did  not  allow  it  to  depress  them. 
They  landed  from  their  canoas,  selected  a  boat- 
guard  of  fifty  of  their  most  intelligent  hands  and 
drew  up  the  remainder  into  battalia,  according  to 
the  Art  of  War.  "Captain  Townley,  with  eighty 
of  the  briskest  Men  marched  before,  Captain  Swan 
with  ioo  Men  marched  next,  Captain  Davis  with 
170  Men  marched  next,  and  Captain  Knight 
brought  up  the  Rear."  Then,  with  many  joyful 
anticipations,  they  took  to  the  road,  across  "a 
Champion  Country,  of  long  grassy  Savannah,  and 
spots  of  high  Woods,"  meaning  to  surprise  the  City 
of  Leon. 

The  City  of  Leon  had  a  great  reputation  among 


112  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

them;  for,  although  it  was  of  no  great  size,  and 
"of  no  great  Trade,  and  therefore  not  rich  in 
Money,"  it  had  been  praised  in  print,  some  thirty 
years  before,  by  "the  English  Mexican"  Mr. 
Thomas  Gage.  We  read  that  it  was  "very  curi- 
ously built"  on  "a  sandy  Soil,  which  soon  drinks 
up  all  the  Rain  that  falls."  It  had  a  famous  rope- 
walk,  and  a  number  of  sugar-works,  besides  cattle 
farms  and  tallow  boileries.  The  houses  were  of 
white  stone  roofed  with  a  vivid  red  pantile,  "for 
the  chief  delight  of  the  inhabitants  consisteth  in 
their  houses,  and  in  the  pleasure  of  the  Country 
adjoyning,  and  in  the  abundance  of  all  things  for 
the  life  of  man,  more  than  in  any  extraordinary 
riches,  which  there  are  not  so  much  enjoyed  as  in 
other  parts  of  America.  They  are  contented  with 
fine  gardens,  with  variety  of  singing  birds  and 
parrets,  with  plenty  of  fish  and  flesh,  which  is 
cheap,  and  with  gay  houses,  and  so  lead  a  delicious 
lasie  and  idle  life.  .  .  .  And  especially  from  the 
pleasure  of  this  City  is  all  that  Province  of  Nicar- 
agua, called  by  the  Spaniards  Mahomet's  Paradise, 
the  Paradise  of  America/' 

At  about    3    o'clock    that    afternoon,    Captain 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   CYGNET       113 

Townley,  "only  with  his  eighty  Men,"  marched 
into  the  square  to  taste  "the  pleasure  of  this  City." 
There  were  200  Spanish  horse,  and  five  companies 
of  infantry  drawn  up  to  oppose  him;  but,  as  nearly 
always  happened  in  these  tussles,  "two  or  three  of 
their  Leaders  being  knock'd  down,  the  rest  fled." 
Captain  Townley  marched  in,  and  piled  arms  in 
the  Plaza.  At  decent  intervals  the  other  companies 
joined  him;  "and  Captain  Knight  with  as  many 
Men  as  he  could  incourage  to  march,  came  in  about 
6,  but  he  left  many  Men  tired  on  the  road;  these, 
as  is  usual,  came  dropping  in  one  or  two  at  a 
time,  as  they  were  able."  Among  the  tired  men, 
"was  a  stout  old  Grey-headed  Man,  aged  about 
eighty-four,  who  had  served  under  Oliver  in  the 
time  of  the  Irish  Rebellion  .  .  .  and  had  followed 
Privateering  ever  since."  He  was  "a  very  merry 
hearty  old  Man,  and  always  used  to  declare  he 
would  never  take  quarter";  so  that,  when  the 
Spaniards  surrounded  him,  as  he  sat  resting  by  the 
roadside,  he  gaily  "discharged  his  Gun  amongst 
them"  keeping  "a  Pistol  still  charged."  The 
Spaniards  drew  back  and  "shot  him  dead  at  a 
distance."    His  name  was  Swan. 


ii4  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

Peace  hath  her  victories,  no  less  renowned  than 
war.  "Mr.  Smith  was  tired  also,"  and  Mr.  Smith 
was  neatly  lazoed,  and  dragged  before  the  Spanish 
Governor  before  he  was  well  awake.  "He  being  ex- 
amined how  many  Men  we  were,  said  iooo  at  the 
City,  and  500  at  the  Canoas,  which  made  well  for  us 
at  the  Canoas,  who  straggling  about  every  day  might 
easily  have  been  destroyed."  Mr.  Smith  dipped 
his  pen  in  earthquake  and  eclipse  till  the  Spanish 
Governor  "sent  in  a  Flag  of  Truce,"  in  the  hope 
of  coming  to  a  composition,  and  getting  rid  of  such 
an  army.  The  buccaneers  received  the  Flag  with 
all  due  ceremony,  and  demanded  some  £70,000  as 
a  ransom  for  the  town,  with  a  further  douceur  of 
"as  much  Provision  as  would  victual  1000  Men 
four  Months,  and  Mr.  Smith  to  be  ransomed." 
However,  a  ransom  of  such  proportions  was  not 
readily  forthcoming.  The  pirates  waited  patiently 
for  a  few  days  pillaging  "all  they  could  rob,"  and 
then  set  fire  to  the  place: 

And  when  the  town  burned  all  in  flame 
With  tara  tantara  away  we  all  came. 

The    Spaniards    "sent    in    Mr.  Smith,"    the   next 
morning,  "and  had  a  gentlewoman  in  exchange." 


THE   VOYAGE   OF  THE   CYGNET      115 

An  impartial  judge  must  admit  that  they  had  the 
better  of  the  bargain. 

Having  destroyed  the  town  of  Leon,  the  buc- 
caneers marched  upon  Rio  Lejo,  "a  pretty  large 
town  with  three  Churches"  some  two  leagues  from 
the  harbour.  It  was  a  very  sickly  place,  never 
free  from  a  noisome  smell,  and  had  therefore  "an 
Hospital"  with  "a  fine  Garden  belonging  to  it." 
The  way  thither  was  defended  by  a  very  strong 
redoubt,  yet  their  labour  was  but  lost  that  built  it, 
for  "we  fired  but  two  guns,  and  they  all  ran  away." 
Rio  Lejo  was  rich  in  flour,  "Pitch,  Tar  and  Cord- 
age; These  things  we  wanted,  and  therefore  we 
sent  them  all  aboard."  The  Pirates  obtained  also 
a  "purchase"  of  "150  Beefs,"  and  "visited  the 
Beef-Farm  every  day,  and  the  Sugar  Works,  and 
brought  away  every  Man  his  Load."  In  spite  of 
the  noisome  smell,  they  passed  a  pleasant  week  at 
Rio  Lejo,  "and  then  some  of  our  destructive  Crew 
set  fire  to  the  Houses,"  and  "we  marched  away 
and  left  them  burning."  The  army  then  returned 
to  the  ships.  The  next  day  the  fleet  divided,  and 
Davis  and  Swan  parted  company.  William  Dam- 
pier,  who  tells  us  most  of  these  things,  left  the 


n6  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

service  of  Davis  here,  and  joined  his  fortunes  with 
Swan's.  He  had  been  Davis's  navigator  for  some 
time  and  he  filled  some  similar  post  under  Swan, 
who  had  perhaps  attracted  him  as  a  weak  but 
cultivated  man  will  attract  the  cultivated  strong 
man  who  has  no  one  else  to  talk  with.  Captain 
Swan  lingered  for  some  days  more  at  the  anchor- 
age, and  then  cruised  slowly  to  the  north,  along 
the  surf-beaten  Western  Coast.  Captain  Townley, 
the  leader  of  the  eighty  brisk  Men,  remained  as 
his  vice-admiral. 

The  history  of  their  cruise  is  a  history  of  bold 
incompetence.  They  landed,  and  fought,  and  fell 
ill,  and  sailed,  and  again  landed ;  but  they  got  very 
little  save  a  knowledge  of  geography.  When  they 
came  as  far  to  the  north  as  Acapulco,  it  occurred 
to  them  that  they  were  in  season  to  take  the  annual 
galleon  from  Manila,  a  prize  worth  some  half  a 
million  of  our  money,  and  the  constant  dream  of 
every  Pirate  in  the  Pacific.  Cavendish  had  taken 
one  such  galleon  a  century  before;  and  Rogers  was 
to  take  another  some  thirty  years  later.  When  the 
Cygnet  arrived  near  Acapulco  the  citizens  were  ex- 
pecting her  arrival.    Had  the  buccaneers  but  filled 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   CYGNET       117 

their  provision  casks  at  once,  and  proceeded  to  a 
cruising  station  off  Cape  Corrientes,  they  could  not 
have  failed  of  meeting  with  her.  Had  they  met 
her,  they  would  probably  have  taken  her.  Had 
they  taken  her,  they  would  have  shared  some 
£2000  apiece,  in  addition  to  the  merchandise.  It 
was  not  to  be.  The  brisk  Captain  Townley  wasted 
some  precious  time  trying  to  cut  out  a  ship  from 
Acapulco.  Then  some  more  precious  time  was 
wasted  in  collecting  provisions  at  places  where 
there  was  little  to  collect.  By  the  time  the  Cygnet 
was  ready  to  cruise  for  the  galleon,  that  golden 
ark  was  safe  in  harbour,  under  the  guns  of  a  fort. 
After  a  few  more  profitless  adventures,  Captain 
Townley  parted  company.  Swan  then  proposed 
that  the  Cygnet  should  proceed  to  the  East  Indies 
to  cruise  "off  the  Manila's."  He  had  no  intention 
of  "cruising"  there;  but  without  a  lure  of  the 
kind  his  men  would  never  have  consented;  for 
"some  thought,  such  was  their  ignorance,  that  he 
would  carry  them  out  of  the  World;  for  about 
2  thirds  of  our  Men  did  not  think  there  was  any 
such  Way  to  be  found,"  as  the  Way  across  the 
Pacific  to  Guahan  and  the  Philippines,  and  even  if 


u8  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

there  were  a  way,  they  did  not  know  how  long  a 
passage  they  might  have.  Cavendish  had  made  it 
in  forty-four,  and  Drake  in  sixty-eight  days,  but 
the  English  books  reckoned  the  distance  to  be  but 
6,000  miles,  whereas  all  the  Spanish  "waggoners" 
made  it  7,000,  or  more.  Even  if  it  were  but  6,000 
miles  they  had  scarcely  enough  food  to  carry  them 
so  far.  "We  had  not  60  days'  provision,  at  a  little 
more  than  half  a  pint  of  Maiz  a  day  for  each  Man, 
and  no  other  Provision,  except  three  meals  of  salted 
Jew- fish;  and  we  had  a  great  many  Rats  aboard, 
which  we  could  not  hinder  from  eating  part  of  our 
Maiz."  However,  "the  hope  of  gain"  worked 
"its  Way  through  all  Difficulties."  The  men 
tightened  their  belts  and  promised  themselves  a 
good  dinner  when  they  got  ashore.  The  maize  was 
divided  between  the  Cygnet  and  a  little  bark,  which 
was  still  cruising  with  her.  At  the  end  of  March 
1686,  they  took  their  departure  from  Cape  Cor- 
rientes,  and  stood  out  into  the  unknown,  towards 
dinnerless  days,  and  what  might  come. 

"In  all  this  Voyage,"  says  Dampier,  "we  did 
not  see  one  Fish." 

Following    Dampier's    example,    we    shall    not 


THE   VOYAGE   OF  THE   CYGNET       no 

trouble  the  reader  "with  an  account  of  each  day's 
run,"  but  hasten  "to  the  less  known  parts  of  the 
world."  The  hungry  buccaneers  made  Guahan  on 
the  20th  May.  "It  was  well  for  Captain  Swan  that 
we  got  sight  of  it  before  our  Provisions  was  spent, 
of  which  we  had  but  enough  for  three  days  more, 
for,  as  I  was  afterwards  informed,  the  Men  had 
contrived,  first  to  kill  Captain  Swan  and  eat  him 
when  the  Victuals  was  gone,  and  after  him  all  of 
us  who  were  accessary  in  promoting  the  undertak- 
ing this  Voyage."  Captain  Swan  made  a  season- 
able jape  on  the  occasion  of  his  hearing  this.  "Ah, 
Dampier,"  he  said,  "you  would  have  made  them 
but  a  poor  Meal,"  for  "I"  (explains  Dampier) 
"was  as  lean  as  the  Captain  was  lusty  and  fleshy." 

At  Guahan  the  pirates  received  a  present  of  six 
Hogs,  "most  excellent  Meat,"  the  best  that  Dam- 
pier "ever  eat."  Having  eaten  them,  they  salted 
some  fifty  more,  and  "steered  away"  for  Min- 
danao, where  they  anchored  on  18th  July  1686. 

When  they  arrived  at  Mindanao,  most  of  the 
seamen  had  had  enough  of  roving.  They  "were 
almost  tired,  and  began  to  desire  a  quietus  est"  for 
they  had  had  a  long  cruise,  and  Captain  Swan  by 


120  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

one  means  or  another  (possibly  through  Dampier), 
had  given  them  a  severe  disciplining  on  the  way. 
"Indeed  Captain  Swan  had  his  Men  as  much 
under  Command  as  if  he  had  been  in  a  King's 
Ship."  It  was  now  open  to  him  to  retrieve  his 
credit  by  establishing  a  trade  at  Mindanao.  He 
could  easily  have  obtained  cloves  and  nutmegs 
there  in  any  quantity;  for  the  Mindanayans  were 
eager  to  make  an  alliance  with  the  English,  and 
would  have  given  him  "good  Pennyworths"  for 
the  £5,000  in  gold  which  he  had  brought  with  him. 
He  seems  to  have  had  some  intention  of  establish- 
ing such  a  spice  trade;  but  it  came  to  nothing. 
His  men  made  merry  ashore  "with  their  Comrades 
and  Pagallies,"  and  Captain  Swan  made  bargains 
with  the  Raja,  who  fooled  him  to  the  top  of  his 
bent,  and  sponged  upon  him.  By-and-by  the  crew 
became  mutinous,  "all  for  want  of  action."  They 
took  to  selling  the  iron  ballast  for  honey  and  arrack 
"to  make  punch";  so  that  the  ship  was  soon  "by 
the  ears,"  with  all  hands  "drunk  and  quarrelsome." 
Then  a  young  man  came  upon  the  Captain's  pri- 
vate journal  "in  which  Captain  Swan  had  inveighed 
bitterly    against   most    of   his    Men."      This   was 


THE   VOYAGE   OF  THE   CYGNET       121 

enough  to  draw  the  mutiny  to  a  head.  The  sailors 
were  ready  for  anything.  "Most  of  them  despaired 
of  ever  getting  home  and  therefore  did  not  care 
what  they  did,  or  whither  they  went/'  It  struck 
them  that  they  would  have  less  worry  if  they  sailed 
elsewhere,  leaving  Captain  Swan  with  his  Raja. 
They  got  some  of  their  drunken  mates  aboard,  and 
so  set  sail,  leaving  Captain  Swan,  with  thirty-six 
others,  ashore  at  Mindanao.  The  Raja  kept  Cap- 
tain Swan  for  a  little  while,  and  then  caused  him 
to  be  upset  from  a  canoe  into  the  river,  and  stabbed 
as  he  strove  to  swim  ashore.  That  was  the  end  of 
Captain  Charles  Swan. 

As  for  the  Cygnet,  with  the  "mad  Crew,"  she 
sailed  from  island  to  island  at  the  sweet  will  of  the 
thirsty  souls  aboard  her.  She  made  a  prolonged 
stay  at  one  of  the  Batan  group,  "which  we  called 
Bashee  Island,  from  a  Liquor  which  we  drank  there 
plentifully  every  day."  "Indeed,"  says  Dampier, 
"from  the  plenty  of  this  Liquor,  and  their  plentiful 
use  of  it,  our  Men  called  all  these  Islands  the 
Bashee  Islands." 

But  even  of  Bashee  there  came  satiety.  After 
some  weeks  they  determined  that  "Bashee  drink" 


122  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

was  vanity;  so  they  "weigh'd  from  there,"  and 
wandered  as  far  as  Australia,  and  then  stood  west 
for  Sumatra.  Presently  they  reached  the  Nicobar 
Islands,  where  Dampier  and  two  others  went 
ashore,  having  had  enough  of  such  shipmates.  The 
Cygnet* s  men  made  some  demur  at  their  landing; 
but  at  last  agreed  to  let  them  go;  so  that  on  "a 
fine  clear  Moonlight  Night,"  as  the  newly  landed 
men  were  walking  on  the  sands,  they  "saw  her 
under  Sail,"  going  out  upon  some  further  madness. 
They  watched  her  go,  and  thanked  their  stars  that 
they  were  quit  of  her. 

"This  mad  fickle  Crew  were  upon  new  Projects 
again."  They  were  going  to  Persia,  no  less;  but 
they  never  got  there.  They  had  to  put  in  to  the 
Coromandel  coast  for  water,  and  here  "the  main 
Body  were  for  going  into  the  Mogul's  Service." 
"It  was  what  these  men  had  long  been  thinking 
and  talking  of  as  a  fine  Thing,"  so  now  they  put  it 
into  practice.  They  throve  mightily  in  the  Mogul's 
service;  but  they  could  not  remain  in  it  for  very 
long.  Most  of  them  crept  back  to  the  coast,  to 
ship  themselves  elsewhere,  and  some  "went  up 
and  down  Plundering  the  Villages,"  till  the  Mogul's 


THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   CYGNET       123 

hair  was  gray.  Those  who  stayed  by  the  Cygnet 
tried  to  take  her  to  the  Red  Sea.  On  the  way  they 
took  a  rich  Portuguese  ship,  which  they  gutted. 
Later  on,  some  of  the  Cygnet's  men  went  off  with 
a  New  York  slaver ;  and  at  last  the  whole  crew  left 
her,  in  order  to  go  to  Achin,  "having  heard  there 
was  plenty  of  Gold  there."  Some  sailors  of  another 
vessel  "undertook  to  carry  her  for  England";  but 
she  was  old  and  rotten;  and  her  days  above  sea 
were  numbered.  "In  St.  Augustin's  Bay  in  Mada- 
gascar" her  crew  went  ashore,  having  broken  their 
hearts  at  her  pumps  ever  since  they  joined  her.  In 
St.  Augustin's  Bay  she  slowly  filled  to  her  port- 
sills,  and  at  last  sank  gracefully,  her  little  blue 
vane  still  fluttering,  to  puzzle  the  mermaids  with 
her  bales  of  silk  stockings. 


124  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 


CAPTAIN  ROBERT  KNOX 

Between  the  years  1690  and  1714,  at  odd  times 
between  voyages,  two  sea  captains  used  to  meet 
each  other  in  London,  dine  together,  shift  their 
tide  ,  and  then  go  off  again  trading  to  the  coast  or 
hunting  the  never-caught  galleon,  as  their  mar- 
vellous fates  led  them.  Both  had  endured  more 
than  man  is  usually  given  to  endure,  both  had 
tasted  to  the  full  of  life's  unexpectedness;  but  per- 
haps the  strangest  of  all  the  strange  things  that 
happened  to  them  was  this — that  once  or  twice, 
before  they  met  each  other,  their  wanderings 
brought  them  close  together  and  then  swept  them 
apart,  as  though  life  had  determined  that  their 
two  souls  should  never  know  each  other  in  action, 
only  meet  when  the  action  was  done,  to  complete 
each  other's  sagas  from  complemental  memories; 
Dampier  to  hear  from  Knox  what  happened  to 
the  Cygnet's  crew,  Knox  to  hear  from  Dampier 
how  that  crew  came  into  being. 


CAPTAIN    ROBERT    KNOX  125 

We  have  no  record  of  any  of  the  conversations 
between  them;  but  it  is  plain  that  sometimes 
(when  they  got  away  from  yarns  and  marine  shop) 
they  quarrelled  about  the  respective  merits  of  the 
Cocornut  tree  and  the  Plantain.  Dampier,  as  a 
West  Indian  sailor,  extolled  the  plantain,  with  (ap- 
parently) "all  the  art  of  Rhetoricke  and  Logicke." 
Knox,  as  an  East  Indian  sailor,  got  extremely  hot 
and  prickly  whenever  a  plantain  tree  was  men- 
tioned. "It  is,"  he  says,  "no  more  propper  to  call 
them  trees  than  it  is  to  Call  a  Cabbage  a  tree  .  .  . 
whare  as  the  Cocornut  tree  Contineweth  flourish- 
ing aboute  100  yeares."  Knox  had  neither  Rhet- 
oricke nor  Logicke,  only  a  passion  "to  doe  the 
Cocornut  tree  justice"  and  a  kind  of  native  wild- 
ness  in  his  spelling. 

They  were  remarkable-looking  men,  as  remark- 
able men  invariably  are.  Dampier,  probably  the 
taller  of  th~  two,  was  of  a  black,  forbidding 
beauty,  with  a  clear  skin,  showing  scarlet  under 
tan.  Knox,  a  stumpier  figure,  had  the  battered, 
triumphant  look  of  one  who,  after  a  long  struggle 
for  salvation,  has  found  his  calling  and  election 
sure.      His    weather-beaten,    manful    old    face    is 


126  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

happy  with  the  power  of  being  fervent  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  If  we  may  hazard  an  opinion, 
Dampier,  who  was  not  reared  in  the  school  of 
piety  nor  much  touched  by  religious  feeling,  may 
have  found  his  companion's  pious  ejaculations 
trying. 

Knox  was  a  captive  among  the  natives  in 
Ceylon  for  the  best  twenty  years  of  his  life,  and 
his  book  is  an  account  of  his  captivity,  with  some 
description  of  Ceylon  as  it  was.  "Whether  here- 
after they  are  ever  or  never  read  by  anyone  it  is 
equially  the  same  to  me,"  he  says.  With  a  gush 
of  the  improving  talk  which  he  lets  fly  on  these 
occasions,  he  tells  us  why  it  is  the  same.  The 
burden  of  his  song  is  very  much — "Man  is  dust. 
Man,  thou  art  a  Worm.  Man,  a  century  hence 
you  will  be  equally  the  same,  whether  in  six  feet 
or  the  moles  of  Adrianus."  Probably  he  was  not 
a  gloomy  man  when  he  first  went  to  sea.  But  to 
be  ruined  and  kept  in  exile  among  an  inferior  race 
throws  a  man  in  upon  himself;  and  Knox  for 
many  years  led  the  life  of  the  religious  contempla- 
tive without  the  contemplative's  solaces  and  safe- 
guards.    It  would  not  be  fair  to  say  that  he  came 


CAPTAIN   ROBERT    KNOX  127 

home  mad;  but  it  is  plain  that  he  came  home 
with  the  crankiness  of  one  who  has  lived  an  ab- 
normal life  during  many  years.  His  crankiness 
showed  itself  in  well-marked  monkish  ways,  in  a 
hatred  of  women  (which  was,  perhaps,  partly  fear), 
and  in  an  inability  to  mix  on  equal  terms  with  his 
fellow  men.  It  is  said  that  men  who  have  been  in 
prison  for  a  long  term  never  really  rejoin  their 
fellows.  The  spiritual  experience  to  which  the 
outer  world  has  no  key,  and  that  self-created 
world  which  has  served  the  soul  for  world  for  so 
long  a  time,  forbid  a  perfect  reunion.  Knox  came 
home  from  Ceylon  with  a  world  in  his  head,  built 
up  out  of  constant  Bible-reading.  Whenever  he 
found  that  the  men  of  the  real  world  failed  to 
understand  him  (and  his  constant  quarrels  and 
wrangles  show  that  they  failed  pretty  often)  he 
turned  to  this  imaginary  world  for  justification 
and  for  solace.  He  sometimes  moralizes  very 
prettily  on  death,  the  futility  of  life,  the  vanity  of 
human  ambition,  and  the  queerness  of  Fate's  deal- 
ings. Bishops  South  and  Atterbury  did  the  like 
by  us  at  even  greater  length.  On  the  whole,  Knox 
is  better  reading  than  the  bishops,  for  at  root  he 


128  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

is  a  simple,  hardy  being  who  has  had  to  fight  to 
live,  and  for  a  companion  in  this  world  we  prefer 
one  who  has  had  to  depend  first  and  last  on  what 
is  manly  in  himself.  For  this  reason  Knox's 
moralizings  are  never  quite  tedious.  One  feels  the 
man  behind  the  writing.  There  is  someone  robust 
and  sturdy  at  the  back  of  it  all.  Life  proved  Knox 
to  the  bone  before  he  earned  his  leave  to  write. 
A  man  so  proved  is  genuine  whether  he  be  en- 
lightened or  not. 

Knox  was  not  enlightened.  Like  other  unen- 
lightened men,  he  finds  it  difficult  to  express  him- 
self. His  book  gives  a  reader  the  impression  of 
an  entirely  sincere  man  entirely  confused.  It  is  as 
though  a  jumble  of  piety,  avarice,  suspicion,  deli- 
cate noble  feeling,  utter  callousness,  and  rule  of 
thumb  were  hung  upon  a  character  essentially  up- 
right and  simple.  Now  and  then  he  is  even  heroic. 
One  of  his  simple  acts  of  piety  strikes  us  as  inde- 
scribably heroic.  His  father  and  he,  with  other  mem- 
bers of  the  crew,  went  ashore  on  Ceylon  and  were 
captured  by  the  Sinhalese.  He  was  allowed  to  go 
back  to  the  ship  with  a  message.  Before  he  set  out 
with  this  message  he  promised  his  father  that  he 


CAPTAIN   ROBERT    KNOX  129 

would  return.  He  could  have  escaped  in  the  ship 
quite  easily.  Those  on  board  the  ship  begged  him  to 
escape  while  he  had  the  chance.  He  was  a  young 
man,  why  should  he  go  back  to  captivity;  why 
not  get  away  in  the  ship  now  Providence  had 
helped  him  to  her?  Knox  delivered  his  message 
and  went  back  to  his  father,  and  was  a  captive 
for  the  next  twenty  years. 

Many  of  the  sea  captains  of  that  age  were  men 
of  fine  mental  attainments  and  great  political 
sagacity.  Their  books  are  wise  with  the  rough 
and  noble  wisdom  of  men  who  have  faced  big 
issues  of  life  and  death  for  months  together. 
Knox's  mind  was  too  confused  for  wisdom.  His 
piety,  though  great,  provided  him  with  no  way  of 
life.  Newton,  Cowper's  friend,  was  changed  by 
sudden  religious  illumination  from  a  slaver  to  a 
preacher.  Knox,  on  the  other  hand,  having  been 
brought,  as  he  would  put  it,  out  of  the  Land  of 
Egypt,  became  not  a  preacher  but  a  slaver.  He 
got  a  little  ship  full  of  powder  and  trade  guns, 
and  went  away  to  Madagascar  to  buy  slaves.  On 
this  voyage  the  man's  character  seems  to  have 
gone  to  pieces.      It  often  happens  that  when  the 


130  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

devil  gets  well  he  forgets  to  pay  his  doctor's  bill. 
Knox  as  a  slaver  is  not  a  pretty  figure. 

His  trade  lay  with  a  certain  King  Ribassa,  who 
"was  one  of  the  younger  Sonns  of  the  famous  old 
King  Lightfoot,  who  with  his  owne  hand  would 
shoot  those  of  his  wives  that  offended  him,  and 
after  bid  some  cut  open  her  body  to  take  out  the 
Bullett."  This  man,  as  was  to  be  expected  from 
his  breeding,  "soone  dranke  up  the  Bottle  of 
Brandy  I  sent  him,  and  dispatched  away  my 
Messenger  to  mee  againe  with  6  Slaves  (3  men 
and  3  Women)  for  the  present  to  me  .  .  .  which  I 
looked  one  as  a  presage  of  successful  trade  like 
to  innsew."  Indeed,  in  a  little  while  comes  the 
entry:  "We  shooke  hands  and  rubbed  noses  .  .  . 
and  began  to  drinke  Brandy  which  was  the  King's 
Chiefe  delight."  During  the  drinking  the  King 
much  admired  Knox's  big  dog,  "as  the  Dog  did 
the  King  to  see  him  so  full  of  Colours  as  his  beads 
made  him — for  the  King  arose  to  stroake  the  Dog, 
which  put  the  Doge  into  a  fome  with  rage  that  I 
was  faint  to  catch  him  about  the  Necke  else  he 
would  have  tasted  what  the  fine  King  was  made 


CAPTAIN   ROBERT   KNOX  131 

It  is  said  that  Courts  give  a  tone  to  society. 
The  following  entry  shows  the  fine  flavour  of 
Court  life  under  Ribassa  and  his  brother.  "The 
King  and  I  walked  hand  in  hand  .  .  .  with  one 
hand  he  led  me  and  in  the  other  hand  held  a 
bottle  of  Brandy,  saying  unto  me  as  we  walked 
'See  how  all  obey  my  word,'  and  when  the  work 
was  done  Prince  Chemaniena  came  and  licked  his 
father's  knees  in  testimony  of  his  obedience,  and 
helped  us  to  drinke  our  bottle  of  Brandy."  The 
brandy  was  shed  unavailingly.  Ribassa  was  a 
knave,  and  his  brother's  charity  was  interrupted 
by  pirates  (whether  Mission's  or  Avery's  men  does 
not  appear).  Knox  had  done  a  little  piracy  in  his 
time,  as  "this  in  all  appearance  seemed  a  ready 
way  to  raise  my  decayed  fortune";  but  being  a 
pirate  and  being  robbed  by  one  do  not  leave  the 
same  flavour  on  the  palate.  He  wisely  set  sail  for 
far  away  Bencoulen,  where  "about  20  men  all 
looking  like  Ghoasts"  lived  in  Dampier's  old  fort 
on  rotten  rice  and  punch. 

Knox  lived  to  be  about  eighty  years  old.  After 
twenty  years'  captivity,  a  long  battering  at  sea, 
yellow  fever,  scurvy,  malaria,    Hurry  Canes,  and 


132  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

other  tumults,  such  an  age  does  him  credit.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Defoe  (who  knew  him)  got 
many  hints  for  "Robinson  Crusoe"  from  him.  It 
is  sad  that  the  comparatively  colourless  Selkirk 
should  have  robbed  him  of  much  credit  properly 
his. 

Latterly  Mr.  James  Ryan  has  edited  and  printed 
his  collected  writings,  together  with  an  Auto- 
biography never  before  published,  from  which 
some  of  these  facts  are  quoted. 


CAPTAIN    COXON  133 


CAPTAIN  COXON 

Eight  generations  ago,  the  island  of  Carmen,  in 
the  Lagoon  of  Tides,  in  the  Bay  of  Campeachy, 
was  one  of  the  loneliest  places  in  the  world.  It 
was  a  wilderness,  half  swamp,  half  jungle,  where 
the  red  mangrove  trees,  and  the  stunted  white  thorn, 
shut  away  a  few  Indians  from  the  roaring  of  the 
Lagoon  tides  at  flood  and  ebb. 

To  the  north  of  it  there  lay  the  Bay,  to  the  south 
the  Lagoon;  to  the  west  and  east  a  number  of 
sandy  islands  about  which  the  tides  raced.  On 
some  of  the  islands,  and  on  all  the  marshy  main- 
land, there  grew  the  valuable  logwood-trees,  which 
made  the  neighboring  waters  to  smell  sweetly 
when  their  profuse  yellow  blossoms  were  in  season. 
To  these  islands,  at  certain  times  of  the  year,  there 
came  a  Spaniard  from  Campeachy,  with  a  gang  of 
cowboys,  to  hunt  the  wild  cattle  for  their  hides 
and  tallow.    This  Spaniard,  whose  name  was  Juan 


134  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

de  Acosta,  was  the  only  white  man  who  ever  came 
there.  How  the  cattle  got  there  will  never  be  known  ; 
but  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  they  had  strayed  from 
the  Spanish  settlements,  and  multiplied,  and  at 
last  swum  across  to  the  islands  at  low  water. 

During  the  first  ten  years  of  the  reign  of  Charles 
II  a  buccaneer  ship,  cruising  far  to  "leeward,"  dis- 
covered the  Lagoon,  and  explored  its  shores.  Her 
seamen  found  several  belts  of  logwood  near  the 
salt  creeks,  and  took  some  stacks  of  the  timber  to 
Port  Royal,  where  they  sold  it  at  a  good  price. 
After  that,  several  ships  (both  merchant  ships  and 
buccaneer  cruisers)  went  thither  yearly  to  load 
logwood  for  Jamaica.  The  wood,  which  was  then 
much  used  for  dyeing,  sold  for  from  £15  to  £70  a 
ton  in  the  English  markets.  It  could  be  had  for 
the  cutting  all  about  the  Lagoon  of  Tides,  while 
the  great  plenty  of  fruit  and  cattle  thereabouts 
made  the  business  inexpensive.  Perhaps  no  people 
since  the  beginning  of  time  have  shown  so  evident 
a  fondness  for  free  quarters  and  large  profits  as 
the  buccaneers  displayed  at  this  period  of  their 
history.  The  business  of  logwood  cutting  suited 
them  very  well,  for  it  did  not  necessarily  interfere 


CAPTAIN   COXON  135 

with  their  rightful  calling;  while  the  title  "log- 
wood cutter"  looked  rather  better  on  a  Charge 
Sheet.  Very  soon  the  creeks  of  the  Lagoon  were 
peopled  by  little  settlements  of  buccaneers,  who 
built  themselves  huts  of  palm  leaves,  and  laboured 
very  hard  at  their  new  craft.  Many  of  them  stayed 
there  all  the  year  round,  cutting  timber  and  stack- 
ing it,  and  selling  it  to  the  merchant  ships  which 
came  thither  from  Port  Royal.  They  lived  together 
in  little  gangs,  with  their  common  casks  of  rum 
and  sugar,  and  such  wives  as  they  could  buy  in 
Jamaica,  or  steal  from  the  local  Indians.  They 
called  the  present  Carmen  Island  Beef  Island,  and 
made  some  arrangement  with  Juan  de  Acosta  for 
the  slaughtering  of  the  beeves  for  their  food.  Five 
days  in  each  week  they  cut  logwood.  On  the  sixth 
they  took  their  guns  and  went  hunting.  The  sev- 
enth they  observed  as  the  Sabbath.  When  a  ship 
came  to  the  Lagoon  all  work  was  laid  aside.  The 
cutters  went  aboard  her,  and  passed  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  drinking  her  commander's  rum  and  firing  off 
her  guns.  If  the  captain  were  sparing  of  his  rum 
and  powder,  they  gave  him  a  cargo  of  bad  wood. 
Thus  did  they  encourage  a  generous  spirit  and  a  vir- 


136  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

tuous  liberality  among  their  patrons.  All  this  is  by 
way  of  prelude,  or  prologue,  to  the  history  we  pro- 
pose to  present. 

In  the  years  1669  and  1670  two  Englishmen, 
brothers,  named  John  and  William  Coxon,  began 
business  as  logwood  merchants,  trading  between 
Port  Royal  and  the  Lagoon  of  Tides.  With 
William  Coxon  we  have  no  concern;  but  we  may 
take  it  for  granted  that  at  this  time  both  he  and 
his  brother  were  fairly  virtuous.  Had  they  been 
otherwise,  they  would  hardly  have  gone  trading 
at  a  time  when  Henry  Morgan  was  about  to  march 
on  Panama.  We  surmise  that  John  Coxon  was 
then  a  young  man,  and  (very  possibly)  new  to  the 
Indies.  He  was  one  of  the  first  to  enter  into 
friendly  relations  with  Juan  de  Acosta.  We  may  be 
sure  that  he  was  very  prodigal  in  rum  and  powder, 
and  that  the  "Old  Standards,"  the  senior  lumber- 
men, always  laid  by  for  him  the  choicest  wood. 
He  passed  his  days  between  the  Lagoon  and  Port 
Royal,  making  perhaps  two  trips  in  each  year. 
But  in  the  summer  of  1672  the  Spaniards  began  to 
look  with  disfavour  upon  the  growing  trade  in  the 
Bay.    Juan  de  Acosta  was  accused  of  encouraging 


CAPTAIN    COXON  137 

the  English,   and  cast  into  prison   at  Campeachy. 
One  or  two  trading  ketches,  laden  with  supplies  of 
logwood,    were   snapped    up    by    Spanish    "Arma- 
dillies,"    while    the    Spanish   guarda-costas,    from 
San  Juan  de  Ulloa,  received  orders  to  destroy  any 
logwood  cutter's  settlement  which  they  could  find. 
John   Coxon   was   troubled   by   these   gentry,    and 
lost  a  part  of  his  business.    The  Jamaican  Govern- 
ment could  not  allow  him  to  make  reprisals;  nor 
was  it  strong  enough  to  protect  a  station  so  far 
away  as  the  Lagoon.     The  Governor  gave  order 
that  in  future  all  logwood  ships  were  to  sail   in 
fleets  not  less  than   four  ships  strong.     This  ar- 
rangement worked  fairly  well,  until  the  final  de- 
struction of  the  logwood  industry  a  few  years  later. 
After  1672  the  Bay  of  Campeachy  attracted  large 
numbers    of    buccaneers,    who    found    the    "wind- 
ward" seas  too  hot  to  hold  them.     The  camps  in 
the  Lagoon  of  Tides  became  rather  more  riotous 
than   they  had   been.     The  lumbermen  began   to 
make  forays  along  the  coasts,  when  business  was 
slack,  with  the  result  that  their  virtuous  members 
became     "debauched"     into     "wickedness."       We 
fear  that  one  of  the  first  to  be  "debauched"  was 


138  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

John  Coxon.  By  1675  he  had  left  the  logwood 
business.  He  had  gathered  together  a  crew  of 
"Privateers,"  and  had  sailed  to  the  island  of 
Tortuga,  where,  for  a  sum  down,  a  compliant 
French  Governor  gave  him  a  commission  to  make 
"war"  upon  the  Spaniards,  with  the  "right"  of 
landing  "to  hunt"  on  Spanish  territory.  With 
this  precious  "protection"  in  his  pocket,  John 
Coxon  cut  himself  temporarily  adrift  from  virtu- 
ous living.    He  hoisted  the  red  flag,  and  set  sail. 

We  do  not  know  how  he  began  his  privateering; 
but  we  are  forced  to  conclude  that  he  wasted  little 
time.  By  August  1676,  he  had  been  declared  a 
pirate;  and  the  Jamaican  Government  had  offered 
mercy  to  all  his  men  if  they  would  deliver  up  their 
captain.  To  their  credit,  they  refused  this  offer; 
but  Coxon  seems  to  have  taken  it  as  a  hint  to  keep 
clear  of  Port  Royal,  and  of  the  windward  waters 
generally,  till  some  other  pirate  had  put  him  out 
of  mind  for  the  time  being.  Probably  he  went  to 
some  quiet  place  like  Boca  del  Toro,  off  Nicaragua, 
where  he  could  live  upon  turtle  and  manatee,  and 
dice  with  his  officers  for  tots  of  rum.  He  lay  low, 
in  this  way,  for  nearly  nine  months. 


CAPTAIN    COXON  139 

His  next  appearance  was  in  June  or  July  1677. 
He  was  then  in  command  of  about  100  Englishmen, 
who  had  taken  as  their  allies  some  three  or  four 
French  captains,  with  commissions  from  Tortuga. 
He  induced  these  Frenchmen  to  come  with  him  to 
attack  Santa  Martha,  a  strong  little  city  not  far 
from  Cartagena,  which  had  proved  too  strong  for 
the  buccaneers,  though  it  had  surrendered,  twenty 
years  before,  to  an  English  squadron.  Drake  had 
been  driven  from  Santa  Martha,  so  that  there  was 
a  certain  amount  of  glory  to  be  won  there.  It  could 
not  be  approached  easily  from  the  landward,  and 
the  defences  to  the  sea-approach  were  powerful. 
Coxon  was  not  dismayed  by  the  difficulties  it  pre- 
sented. He  rowed  in  boldly  in  the  early  morning, 
a  little  before  the  dawn,  and  carried  the  main  fort 
with  a  rush,  while  the  garrison  were  sleeping.  The 
town  was  taken  after  a  little  fighting  in  the  streets. 
All  the  credit  of  the  capture  was  due  to  Coxon, 
who  "did  all,"  with  his  Englishmen,  before  the 
Frenchmen  ventured  to  come  ashore.  At  least, 
this  was  what  he  told  Sir  Thomas  Lynch  on  his 
return  to  Port  Royal.  The  plunder  of  Santa 
Martha  was  "nothing  to  babble  about."     It  came 


140  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

to  £20  a  man,  in  "money  and  broken  plate"; 
though  Coxon's  share  came  to  rather  more.  He 
brought  away  with  him  the  Governor  and  the 
Bishop  of  the  city,  both  of  whom  he  held  to  ransom. 
There  must  have  been  something  charming  in  him, 
for  when  he  came  to  Port  Royal  to  surrender  to 
the  Government  (and  to  pay  his  tenths  and 
fifteenths),  the  "good  old  man"  (the  Bishop)  ex- 
pressed himself  "exceedingly  satisfied"  with  his 
treatment.  He  expressed  himself  thus  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lynch,  who  had  come  aboard  to  inquire 
after  him,  and  to  make  him  more  comfortable,  and 
to  treat  for  his  release.  When  he  spoke,  the  entire 
buccaneer  crew  was  lying  on  the  deck  blind  drunk, 
and  perhaps  few  bishops  would  have  shown  such 
charitable  broadmindedness  in  such  a  situation,  and 
at  such  a  time. 

The  ransoms  of  the  Bishop  and  the  Governor 
were  duly  paid,  and  Coxon  found  himself  rich 
enough  to  take  advantage  of  an  Act  of  Oblivion. 
For  nearly  two  years  he  lived  honestly  in  Jamaica; 
but  (as  he  confessed)  he  then  "grew  weary"  of 
being  honest  (probably  he  ran  short  of  money),  so 
that  he  put  to  sea  again  in  command  of  a  small 


CAPTAIN   COXON  141 

cruiser.  In  the  summer  of  1679  he  was  on  the 
coasts  of  Honduras,  where  he  made  a  great  haul 
of  indigo,  tortoiseshell,  cacao  and  cochineal.  He 
would  have  preferred  pieces  of  eight,  but  the 
homely  proverb,  "it  is  not  always  May,"  was 
doubtless  a  consolation  to  him.  He  smuggled 
much  of  his  booty  into  Jamaica,  where  he  flooded 
all  the  markets,  and  ruined  half  the  dry-goods 
merchants.  Then  he  set  sail  again  (December 
1679)  to  Negril  Bay,  at  the  west  end  of  Jamaica, 
to  fill  provisions  for  a  raid  along  the  Spanish 
coasts.  With  him  were  Captains  Sawkins  and 
Sharp,  both  of  whom  have  their  niches  in  the  sinks 
and  cellars  of  Fame's  temple.  While  they  lay  at 
Negril,  a  small  trading  ketch  put  in  and  anchored 
by  them.  She  was  going  to  leeward,  to  trade 
among  the  Moskito  Indians.  Aboard  her  was 
William  Dampier,  a  merchant  and  logwood  cutter, 
who  was  trying  to  make  a  little  money,  before  he 
returned  to  England.  The  crew  of  the  ketch 
promptly  volunteered  to  join  the  buccaneers;  so 
that  Dampier  "was,  in  a  manner,  forced"  to  join 
them  also.  About  Christmas  1679,  Coxon  made 
sail,  and  steered  away  to  the  Main,  with  designs 


142  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

upon  the  town  of  Porto  Bello,  where  Drake  had 
died,  some  eighty-three  years  before.  Coxon  took 
200  men  ashore,  and  marched  for  three  days 
through  swamps  and  woods,  till  on  the  dawn  of 
the  fourth  he  came  to  the  city,  and  rushed  it,  as  he 
had  rushed  Santa  Martha.  Porto  Bello  had  been 
squeezed  by  the  velvet  glove  of  Henry  Morgan 
in  1668,  but  Coxon's  men  secured  booty  which 
"whacked  up"  to  £30  or  £40  a  man.  This  was 
"good  gains,"  and  with  this  they  were  content. 
They  rejoined  their  ships  and  sailed  to  Golden 
Island,  a  noted  haunt  of  the  buccaneers,  in  the 
"Samballoes,"  or  Mulatas  Islands,  where  they 
planned  to  cross  the  Isthmus  of  Darien,  to  plunder 
Santa  Maria,  a  gold-mine  near  the  South  Seas. 
When  they  mustered  at  Golden  Island,  Coxon  was 
in  a  ship  of  80  tons,  manned  by  97  men. 

The  story  of  that  crossing  of  the  Isthmus  has 
been  told  by  many  writers,  four  of  whom  were  in 
the  ranks  at  the  time.  At  the  landing,  Captain 
John  Coxon  commanded  the  fifth  and  sixth  com- 
panies, both  of  which  marched  under  red  colours. 
The  colours  were  probably  petticoats,  which  could 
afterwards  be  traded  to  the  natives.     Coxon  landed 


CAPTAIN    COXON  143 

in  a  bad  mood,  because  he  was  not  the  chief  com- 
mander of  the  expedition;  that  post  having  fallen 
to  Richard  Sawkins,  a  valorous  imp  of  fame  who 
was  more  popular  than  he.  Two  days  after  land- 
ing he  had  "some  Words"  with  another  company 
commander,  one  Peter  Harris,  a  Kentish  gentle- 
man.    On  this  occasion  he  so  far  forgot  himself  as 

to  say  D n,  and  to  whip  up  a  gun  and  to  fire  at 

Peter  Harris,  who  was  by  no  means  backward  in 
retaliating.  However,  another  company  captain 
"brought  him  to  be  quiet,"  and  so  the  voyage 
continued.  Santa  Maria  was  duly  captured,  "but 
when  they  got  there,  the  cupboard  was  bare,"  for 
the  month's  take  of  gold  had  just  been  sent  to 
Panama.  This  disappointment  caused  the  bucca- 
neers much  annoyance.  Some  were  for  returning 
to  their  ships  at  Golden  Island.  Others,  more 
venturous,  were  for  attacking  Panama.  Coxon, 
who  had  taken  Santa  Martha  and  Porto  Bello, 
was  for  returning  to  the  ships,  because,  he  argued, 
the  honour  of  any  further  exploit,  in  this  galere, 
will  fall,  not  to  me,  but  to  Richard  Sawkins. 
However,  Sawkins  was  not  so  covetous  of  honour 
as  Coxon  thought.     He  caused  the  buccaneers  to 


144  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

make  Coxon  their  Admiral  in  his  stead;  which 
was  promptly  done,  "Coxon  seeming  to  be  well 
satisfied."  Then  they  embarked  in  "canoas  and 
periagoes"  and  rowed  away  west  for  Panama. 
On  St.  George's  Day  (1680)  the  canoas  of  Sawkins 
and  Coxon  fought  and  defeated  a  Spanish  squadron 
near  the  island  of  Perico.  The  battle  was  well- 
contested  and  abominably  bloody;  and  the  laurels 
were  won  by  Richard  Sawkins,  who  captured  the 
Spanish  admiral.  This  was  a  sore  blow  to  Coxon, 
who  now  determined  to  return  to  his  ship.  Some 
of  Sawkins's  men  "stickled  not  to  defame  or 
brand  him  with  the  note  of  cowardice,"  crying  out 
that  he  had  been  backward  in  the  battle,  and  that 
he  wasn't  half  the  Admiral  he  gave  out.  At  this, 
Coxon  took  leave  of  the  fleet,  with  some  seventy 
hands.  He  took  with  him  a  ship  and  a  periagua, 
which,  as  Sharp,  his  shipmate,  says,  "will  not 
much  Redound  to  his  Honour."  He  recrossed  the 
Isthmus  without  trouble;  rejoined  his  ship  at 
Golden  Island;  and  again  went  cruising  along  the 
Main. 

Shortly  after  his  return  to  the  North  Sea,  he 
decided  to  row  far  up  the  Gulf  of  Darien  to  get 


CAPTAIN    COXON  145 

gold  from  the  Indians  of  those  parts.  He  caused 
his  seamen  to  cut  up  a  useful  suit  of  sails  and  to 
make  a  number  of  strong  canvas  bags  (a  bag 
apiece)  for  the  ready  conveyance  of  the  gold, 
when  it  had  been  "purchased,"  or  "conveyed." 
But  though  he  rowed  with  creditable  perseverance, 
"with  an  astonishing  Degree  of  Enthusiasm," 
under  a  sun  that  was  hot  and  through  an  atmos- 
phere that  was  nearly  liquid,  he  got  no  gold 
whatsoever.  He  could  not  even  get  any  Indians 
to  sell  in  Port  Royal;  for  the  Indians  were  not 
only  "Shy,"  but  "Treacherous";  and  had  a  way 
of  potting  your  pirate,  through  a  blowpipe,  from 
behind  a  tree.  Plainly,  such  Indians  were  best 
left  alone  by  a  force  which,  however  civilized, 
lacked  machine-guns.  They  wished  these  Indians 
might  some  day  come  into  the  hands  of  the 
Spaniards.  Then,  they  argued,  they  wouldn't  be 
so  perky  with  their  blowpipes,  nor  yet  so  suspicious 
of  those  who  were  really  their  best  friends.  Thus 
growling,  they  rowed  out  of  the  Gulf,  and  set  sail 
for  Jamaica.  On  the  way,  an  English  frigate 
chased  them  for  a  day  or  more,  to  give  them  a 
relish  of  the  sweets  of  liberty. 


146  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

We  do  not  know  what  John  Coxon  did  for  the 
next  few  months.  He  probably  cruised  along  the 
Main,  taking  what  he  could,  and  lying  up,  among 
the  Mulatas  Islands,  when  weary  of  the  sea.  He 
was  at  anchor  at  one  of  the  Mulatas  Islands  in 
May  1 68 1,  when  Dampier  arrived  there,  after  his 
tramp  across  the  Isthmus.  He  was  then  in  very 
good  fettle,  and  did  not  want  hands.  With  him 
were  several  other  buccaneers,  French,  Dutch, 
and  English,  who  were  planning  a  "concerted 
piece,"  or  buccaneer  orchestral  effect,  which 
should  startle  the  Spaniards  extremely.  However, 
it  came  on  to  blow;  the  ships  were  separated; 
the  great  scheme  came  to  nothing;  and  Coxon 
disappears  again,  under  storm-staysails,  for  the 
best  part  of  a  year.  In  June  or  July  1682,  he 
turned  up  at  the  Bahama  Group,  at  the  office  of 
the  Governor  of  New  Providence.  He  explained 
that  he  wanted  a  commission  to  enable  him  "to 
make  war  on  the  Spaniards  of  Cuba,  St.  Augus- 
tine, and  others";  which  commission  (to  his  great 
surprise)  was  promptly  granted.  He  recruited  at 
New  Providence,  by  the  simple  method  of  invit- 
ing defaulting  debtors  to  come  aboard.     Then  he 


CAPTAIN    COXON  147 

sailed  to  Jamaica,  apparently  to  show  Sir  Thomas 
Lynch  what  a  beautiful  commission  he  had  gotten 
from  Bahama.  Sir  Thomas  reproved  the  too 
trusting  official,  and  diverted  honest  Coxon's 
fervour  into  another  channel,  by  bidding  him 
go  to  Honduras  to  escort  home  some  logwood 
merchants.  Coxon  gave  up  his  intention  of  making 
war  on  the  Spaniard,  and  sailed  to  Honduras  to 
do  this,  but,  unfortunately,  his  men  had  little 
heart  for  convoy  duty.  Being  Government  men, 
at  £1  a  month  and  their  victuals,  was  less 
pleasant,  and  infinitely  less  glorious,  than  being 
"on  the  account"  for  "whatever  they  could  rob." 
They  plotted  to  heave  John  Coxon  into  the  gulf, 
and  to  run  away  with  the  ship,  "and  go  privateer- 
ing." So  they  came  aft  in  a  body  to  put  their 
bloody  resolutions  into  effect.  "But  he  valiantly 
resisted,  killed  one  or  two  with  his  own  hand, 
forced  eleven  overboard,  and  brought  three  to 
Port  Royal,"  where  they  were  condemned  and 
hanged.  This  action  so  delighted  Lynch  that  he 
made  Coxon  his  trusted  henchman.  Early  in  1683, 
Lynch  sent  him  out  again,  this  time  to  his  old 
ally,    Captain    Yanky-Dutch,    with    an    offer    of 


148  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

"£200  in  Gold,  besides  Victuals,"  if,  between  them, 
they  could  capture  the  French  privateer  La  Trom- 
peuse,  commanded  by  their  whilom  friend,  Captain 
Peter  Paine. 

Virtue  so  fervent  as  that  of  John  Coxon  soon 
burns  itself  out.  The  pure  flame  which  forced 
eleven  mutineers  into  the  sea  in  November  1682, 
was  but  a  smoke  and  a  memory  a  year  later.  In 
a  letter  dated  November  1683,  we  find  the  curt 
entry,  "Coxon  is  again  in  rebellion";  while 
another,  of  March,  1684,  describes  him  as  cruising 
off  the  Terra  Firme.  Then  a  vagrant  impulse  to 
virtue  drove  him  back  to  Jamaica,  where  he  found 
a  surety,  and  some  honest  employment,  which 
kept  him  ashore,  but  only  for  a  little  while.  In 
January  1686,  he  returned  to  Jamaica  from  another 
piratical  raid,  the  details  of  which  are  missing. 
He  claimed  on  this  occasion  to  be  weary  of  piracy; 
but  the  authorities  were  more  weary  than  he,  so 
he  was  laid  by  the  heels,  and  sent  for  trial  at  St. 
Jago  de  la  Vega,  "where  there  will  be  few  sym- 
pathizers among  the  jury."  Those  who  are  to  be 
tried  in  a  place  where  there  will  be  few  sympa- 
thizers  among   the   jury   have   every    incentive   to 


CAPTAIN    COXON  149 

find  sympathizers  in  the  gaol.  Coxon  discovered 
the  practical  virtues  of  this  statement.  He  got 
away  from  the  prison  before  the  jury  was  called; 
and  he  was  next  heard  of  in  Campeachy,  cutting 
logwood,  and  raiding  the  coasts.  A  ship  was  sent 
after  him;  but  this  ship,  though  she  captured 
some  of  his  men,  failed  to  take  him.  In  1687  ne 
was  still  cruising,  and  making  a  good  deal  of 
money  "by  snapping  up  Indians  to  sell."  In  1688, 
for  some  reason,  he  again  surrendered  at  Jamaica 
to  the  Duke  of  Albemarle,  who  "sent  him  to 
Lynch"  in  despair. 

We  do  not  know  how  he  escaped  hanging;  but 
the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  for  him,  and  he 
got  off  somehow.  He  had  still  ten  years  of  life 
before  him;  and  these  he  passed  quietly,  as  a 
trader  to  the  Moskito  shore.  At  times  the  old 
Adam  rose  up  strongly  in  him;  and  then  he  would 
gather  the  Indians  together,  and  take  them  to  the 
Spanish  settlements,  "surprizing  them  in  the 
night,"  as  he  had  once  surprised  Santa  Martha. 
"This  Coxon  encouraged  the  Indians  to  such 
practices."  He  died  among  them,  surrounded  by 
"wild    Indian    slaves    and    harlots,"    in    the    year 


150  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

1698.  The  Indians  sorrowed  for  him  "after  their 
manner";  and  three  old  English  pirates,  who  lived 
in  that  strange  place,  helped  dig  his  grave;  and 
then  drank  a  cup  of  rum  to  his  memory,  and  fired  a 
French  volley  to  his  wandering  shadow. 


IN    A    CASTLE    RUIN  151 


IN   A   CASTLE   RUIN 

"Very  long  ago,"  said  the  old  man,  "the  castle 
was  owned  by  a  Scotchman  named  Carr,  whose 
daughter  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world.  The  name  of  this  daughter  was  Clelia. 
She  married  Andy  MacDonnell,  who  came  over  at 
the  time  of  the  Settlement;  and  after  her  marriage 
she  lived  on  at  the  castle  with  her  husband,  help- 
ing Carr  with  the  land.  When  Andy  had  been 
married  about  half  a  year,  he  was  called  away  to 
Scotland  on  business;  for  he  was  a  great  man  in 
Scotland,  and  at  that  time  there  was  to  be  marry- 
ing between  the  royal  families  of  Scotland  and 
England,  and  he  was  wanted  to  carry  a  banner  at 
the  wedding.  So  he  went  to  Scotland.  And  when 
they  heard  he  was  coming  back  they  made  all 
ready  for  a  feast,  and  they  had  fires  lighted,  and 
all  the  fiddlers  and  the  pipers  came;  and  the  poets 
came  from  the  back  hills  making  up  new  songs. 


152  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

"Now  at  last,  the  ship  which  brought  Andy  Mac- 
Donnell  came  round  the  Point  yonder,  and  Andy 
got  ashore,  and  then  the  ship  rowed  away.  Then 
Carr  went  up  to  him  and  asked  why  he  was  turn- 
ing the  ship  away  again.  'Isn't  that  the  ship  you 
sailed  in?'  he  said.  'Isn't  that  your  own  ship?' 
'It  is  not/  says  Andy.  'My  own  ship's  in  Scot- 
land. The  King  took  a  fancy  to  her.'  So  then 
Carr  asked  him  what  had  become  of  all  the  men 
who  had  gone  with  him  abroad.  And  he  answered 
that  the  King  had  taken  a  fancy  to  them,  and  that 
they  were  all  with  the  King  in  Scotland,  every 
man  jack  of  them  down  to  Johnny  O'Hara,  the 
piper's  boy.  So  Carr  wondered  a  little  at  that, 
but  said  nothing;  and  they  all  went  up  to  the  castle 
to  the  feast. 

"But  there  was  a  queer  thing  that  was  noticed. 
There  was  a  little  lad  of  the  MacLearnon's  running 
about  bare  foot  among  the  horses.  He  was  a 
little  wee  lad,  the  nicest  little  lad  you  would  be 
seeing.  So  when  Andy  MacDonnell  was  coming 
to  the  castle  from  the  shore,  this  little  MacLearnon 
looks  at  him;  and  he  was  near  him;  and  he  said 
to   his   mother,    'His    Honour's    ears    is   pointed.' 


IN   A   CASTLE   RUIN  153 

They  were  pointed  just  the  same  as  the  ears  on  a 
terrier.  Wasn't  it  wonderful  that  no  one  had  ever 
noticed  that  before;  that  he  should  have  pointed 
ears,  and  no  one  see  it?  I'm  thinking  that  was 
a  great  wonder. 

"Now  after  that,  things  settled  down  as  before. 
Andy  MacDonnell  lived  on  with  Carr  at  the  Castle, 
and  there  was  nothing  much  happened,  except  a 
little  child  was  born  to  Clelia;  and  that  was  a 
queer  thing,  the  child  was.  It  was  a  little  wee 
man  of  a  child,  and  he  was  born  with  teeth  in  him, 
and  the  first  thing  his  mother  saw  of  him  was  that 
his  ears  were  pointed ;  and  the  nurses  said  that  that 
was  a  great  shame,  and  she  so  beautiful  a  mother. 
There  were  other  things,  besides  that,  which 
seemed  queer.  Andy  MacDonnell  was  another 
sort  of  a  man  than  he  had  been.  He  used  to  go  up 
beyond,  in  the  back  hills,  at  the  time  of  a  new 
moon.  He  got  a  bad  name  on  to  him  for  doing 
that;  but  that  was  nothing  to  what  they  caught 
him  doing  another  time  on  the  back  hills,  beyond 
the  wood  there.  There's  a  flat  place  there,  where 
they  used  to  hold  cock  fights  in  the  old  times.  It 
was  a  religious  place  before  that,  where  they  did 


154  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

the  old  religion,  and  there's  wraiths  in  it,  besides 
Themselves;  and  it  was  there  they  caught  Andy. 
It  was  one  twilight  they  caught  him.  He  was 
standing  on  the  grass,  bowing  to  a  great  black 
goat;  and  every  time  he  bowed  the  goat  spoke  to 
him  in  ancient  Irish.  Wasn't  that  a  wonderful 
thing  now?  There  was  a  strong  magic  in  that; 
indeed  there  was.  The  shepherds  didn't  say  any- 
thing, for  Andy  was  a  great  gentleman,  but  they 
thought  it  a  queer  thing,  for  all  that.  And  Carr 
kept  wondering  all  the  time  what  had  become  of 
the  ship,  and  all  the  men  left  behind  in  Scotland. 

"Now  just  about  a  year  after  Andy  MacDonnell 
had  come  home,  he  and  Carr,  and  Clelia  and  the 
child  were  sitting  on  the  grass  (on  a  carpet)  look- 
ing out  over  the  bay,  and  it  was  one  evening,  get- 
ting towards  sunset;  and  as  they  were  sitting 
talking,  they  saw  a  small  boat  pulling  in  to  the 
bay,  and  Carr  said,  'It's  a  tired  man  in  that 
boat,'  for  he  was  pulling  like  a  crazy  man.  And 
Clelia  said,  'It'll  be  some  poor  man  who  has 
maybe  lost  his  ship.'  And  Andy  MacDonnell 
looked  hard  at  the  boat,  and  says  he,  Til  be  go- 
ing   in/    he    said,    'the    evening   strikes   cold,'    he 


IN   A    CASTLE   RUIN  155 

says.      So   he   turned,    and   went   into    the   house. 
There  was  no  one  ever  saw  him  again. 

"Now  the  boat  ran  ashore  on  the  beach,  and  the 
tired  man  got  out  of  her,  just  by  those  rocks;  and 
he  was  tired  indeed.  He  could  scarce  climb  up 
that  bank  of  shingle.  So  Carr  looks  hard  at  him. 
'Why,'  he  says,  'it's  Johnny  O'Hara,  the  piper's 
boy,  that  was  left  behind  in  Scotland.  What 
news,  Johnny!'  he  says.  So  Johnny  comes  near 
up  to  him,  and,  'Bad  news,'  he  says.  'It's  bad 
news  I'm  bringing  you  this  day.  Your  man  is 
killed,'  he  says.  'Andy  MacDonnell  is  killed,'  he 
says.  'He  was  killed  by  the  Scotch  the  day  he 
was  to  have  come  home.  And  I've  been  a  prisoner 
ever  since.'  So  Carr  got  up  on  his  feet,  and  he 
calls  out  'Andy';  but  no  one  ever  came.  And 
Clelia  called  out  'Andy' ;  but  no  one  ever  answered. 
And  they  went  into  the  castle,  but  no  Andy  was 
there,  and  then  they  knew  that  they'd  been  living 
with  a  dragon-man,  and  that  the  real  Andy  had 
been  dead  a  year.  When  Clelia  knew  that  she'd 
been  living  with  a  dragon-man,  she  went  up- 
stairs to  her  room,  and  took  out  a  kind  of  dirk 
she  had,  with  a  sharp  point  on  it,  and  she  said  a 


156  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

prayer  first,  and  then  stuck  herself,  so  that  she 
fell  dead.  That  was  in  one  of  the  top  chambers. 
It's  all  fallen  in  now,  this  long  time;  but  that  was 
where  she  killed  herself.  And  when  Carr  knew 
that  there  had  been  a  dragon-man,  he  looked  at 
the  child,  and  he  knew  it  for  a  dragon-child,  be- 
cause its  ears  was  pointed,  so  he  took  it  up  and 
swung  it  against  the  tower  wall,  against  these 
corner  stones,  until  he  had  it  killed.  Then  he 
went  down  the  strand  yonder,  to  that  point  of 
rocks  below  my  cabin,  and  there  he  drowned  him- 
self. That's  why  the  point  is  called  Carr's  Point, 
to  this  day.  He  was  the  last  man  to  live  in  the 
castle  here.  No  one  would  ever  live  in  it  after 
that,  and  the  floors  fell  in,  and  the  wood-work  was 
taken ;  and  now  there's  the  ivy  on  it." 


A   DEAL   OF    CARDS  157 


A   DEAL   OF   CARDS 

A  company  of  seamen  sat  round  a  cabin  table, 
and  pledged  each  other  in  a  brew  of  punch.  They 
sat  upon  locker  tops,  on  cushions  of  green  velvet 
gone  rusty  at  the  seams.  The  stern-ports  were 
open  at  their  backs,  for  it  was  hot,  and  the  room 
between  decks  was  foul  with  the  reek  of  their 
tobacco.  You  could  tell  that  the  ship  was  under 
way  by  glancing  astern  at  the  dull  track,  like  a 
great  snail's  track,  which  she  had  drawn  upon 
the  blue  water  as  she  dragged  in  the  light  wind. 
She  rolled  slightly  now  and  again,  making  a 
creaking  in  her  gear,  and  trembling  the  silver 
lamp  upon  the  cabin  bulkhead.  She  was  an  old 
ship,  you  could  see  by  the  rot  upon  the  beams. 
She  was  foul  with  a  long  passage,  and  the  cabin 
reeked  of  bilge.  The  blue  arras  on  the  cabin  door 
was  wormy  with  age.  The  parquetting  in  her 
deck  was  dirty  with  the  marks  of  sea-boots.  It 
was  heaped  here   and   there  with   a  sort  of  loot, 


158  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

such  as  clothes  with  lace  upon  them,  and  small 
arms,  cheap  jewellery,  buckles,  and  the  like,  for 
the  cruise  had  been  lucky  in  a  way.  Two  of  the 
seamen  at  the  rum  were  dicing  each  other  for 
some  uncut  stones  in  a  packet  from  the  mines  of 
Esmeralda. 

The  drinkers  were  silent  for  the  most  part,  puff- 
ing out  their  tobacco  like  a  gang  of  Spaniards, 
only  speaking  to  call  a  health,  such  as,  "A  fair 
slant,"  or  "Dollars,"  or  to  mark  the  throw  of  the 
dice.  They  were  a  rough  lot  of  fellows,  some  of 
them  branded  in  the  cheeks.  Most  of  them  had 
scars  about  their  faces,  and  not  one  of  them  but 
carried  arms — pistols,  or  a  dirk,  or  a  seaman's 
hanger — in  a  belt  of  coloured  leather,  plaited  by 
the  wearer.  One  of  the  number  had  his  head  in  a 
rag,  and  swore  thickly  from  time  to  time,  as 
though  his  wound  were  painful.  He  had  been 
hurt  with  a  knife  by  a  mate  that  morning,  since 
when  he  had  been  at  the  rum.  His  head  was 
singing  like  a  kettle,  what  with  the  cut,  the  drink, 
and  the  heat  of  the  between  decks.  His  name  was 
Joe;  he  was  a  runaway  from  a  king's  ship,  once 
a  sailor  trading  out  of  Bristol. 


A   DEAL   OF   CARDS  159 

Perhaps  he  was  a  little  touched  with  fever,  for 
of  a  sudden  he  refilled  his  pannikin  and  drank 
it  dry.  He  rose  unsteadily,  clutching  at  the 
table,  and  at  the  shirts  of  his  companions.  He 
leaned  his  head  through  the  window,  flinging 
his  empty  can  far  astern  into  the  still,  blue 
sea. 

"A  rot  on  all  salt  water,"  he  shouted.  Then 
he  collapsed  over  a  Newgate  man,  who  had  long 
hoed  tobacco  in  the  Indies.  Blood  was  trickling 
from  under  his  rag,  for  the  wound  was  broken 
out  again.  A  little  blood  came  from  between  his 
lips:  he  seemed  in  a  bad  way.  He  had  had  some 
sort  of  a  stroke. 

"Joe's  got  the  shakes,"  said  the  Newgate  man. 
"Help  us  hold  of  him,  Bill;  lay  him  among  them 
prettiments." 

He  pointed  to  the  loot  on  the  deck.  One  of  the 
dicers  took  hold  of  Joe's  boots,  and  dragged  him 
clear  of  the  table.  They  dropped  him  roughly 
among  the  clutter,  with  his  head  on  some  lace. 
The  Newgate  man  went  through  his  pockets. 
There  were  only  two  copper  charms,  some  tobacco 
plug,  a  steel  for  striking  a  light,  and  a  ball  of  twine. 


160  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

"He  diced  it  all,"  said  Bill,  "that  time  we  stuck 
him  with  the  Greeks." 

"I'll  throw  you  for  the  plug,"  replied  the  New- 
gate man.  "He'll  do  now.  He's  only  in  some 
sort  of  a  fit." 

Then  they  returned  to  the  rum. 

When  Joe  fell  across  the  convict  his  eyes  were 
burning  in  a  mist  of  blood,  which  seemed  to  shoot 
and  shake  in  front  of  him.  His  ears  were  drum- 
ming, as  though  a  bird  were  beating  his  head 
with  wings,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  dropping  from 
a  height  into  some  deep,  empty  well.  In  a  little 
time  the  red  mist  cleared  away;  the  drumming 
hushed;  the  feeling  of  dropping  changed.  He 
was  in  a  little  dark  room,  before  a  fire  of  embers, 
which  made  a  red  glow  upon  the  chimney  bricks. 
It  was  a  lonely  little  room,  darker  than  the  night, 
but  for  the  coals,  and  so  still  it  might  have  been 
below  the  ground,  below  the  graves  even,  beneath 
the  dead  with  their  glazed  eyes.  So  utterly  silent 
it  was,  he  was  glad  to  hear  his  heart  beat.  It 
beat  steadily,  like  a  menace,  like  the  continual 
tapping  of  a  drum.  It  was  beating,  not  like  a 
heart,  but  like  a  clock.     Like  some  clock  in  hell 


A   DEAL   OF   CARDS  161 

ticking  to  the  souls  among  the  fire.  It  was  ticking 
like  the  march  of  time  through  the  dim  roads  of 
eternity.  It  was  a  thing  horrible,  inexorable,  that 
continual  ticking.  In  the  blackness,  the  utter 
silence,  that  beating  music  became  terrible.  It 
seemed  to  fill  the  room.  It  seemed  to  roar  about 
his  body  like  a  crowd  of  spirits  about  a  corpse. 
He  tried  to  shake  himself,  but  could  not  stir.  He 
tried  to  cry  aloud,  but  could  not  speak.  He  tried 
to  arrest  his  heart,  to  stop  that  ticking.  But  it 
beat  on,  rhythmical,  steady,  terrible.  It  seemed 
that  the  darkness,  the  noise,  the  glowing  coals,  were 
laughing  at  him. 

And  then,  with  a  great  burst,  the  ticking  ceased 
and  the  room  became  quite  light — as  light,  he 
thought,  as  a  summer  day  at  noon.  Where  the 
fire  had  burned  a  woman  squatted,  a  black  woman, 
black  as  coal,  in  a  plain  gown  of  scarlet.  Her 
eyes  burned  in  an  intense  and  baleful  brightness. 
Her  lips  were  apart,  showing  white  teeth  in  a  grin. 
In  her  hand  she  held  cards. 

He  looked  at  these  cards.  Indeed,  she  held 
them  towards  him  for  him  to  see,  turning  them 
over  that  he  might  see  both  sides  of  them.    They 


1 62  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

were  three  in  number,  and  each  of  them  had  a 
black  back,  as  black  as  a  piece  of  ebony.  The 
faces  were  coloured  in  intense  colours,  one  of 
gold,  which  seemed  to  burn,  one  of  crimson,  which 
glowed,  one  of  black,  which  seemed  angry  like 
the  smoke  of  hell.  The  colours  of  them  seemed  to 
be  the  tokens  of  a  beauty,  a  fierceness  and  a  horror, 
beyond  any  words  that  he  could  fashion. 

The  black  woman  grinned  at  him  as  she  thrust 
the  cards  together.  She  crouched  down  upon  the 
hearth,  purring  like  a  cat,  cackling,  whining.  Her 
eyes  gleamed  as  she  began  to  shuffle  the  cards, 
tossing  them  in  the  air,  passing,  re-passing,  whirl- 
ing them  about,  till  they  seemed  like  three  arrows 
of  red  and  gold  and  black  fire.  At  last  she  flung 
them  all  into  the  air,  caught  them  in  one  hand  as 
they  fell,  bowed  very  low,  her  lips  grinning,  her 
eyes  intensely  bright,  and  held  them  out,  face 
downwards,  for  him  to  make  his  choice.  All  that 
he  could  see  were  three  black  cards,  spread  out 
before  him  like  the  sticks  of  a  fan.  Yet  he  knew 
that  upon  his  choice  of  a  card  depended  his  life, 
his  life  hereafter,  the  life  of  his  soul  between  the 
lives. 


A    DEAL    OF    CARDS  163 

"No,"  he  tried  to  gasp.  "No,  I  will  not 
choose." 

The  little  black  hag  laughed.  She  whirled  the 
cards  into  the  air,  and  watched  them  fly  away, 
like  birds,  crying  strange  words  as  they  flew.  The 
room  burst  into  a  million  fragments,  flinging  Joe 
into  the  night.  The  light  grew  very  violent  of  a 
sudden,  and  there  he  was,  feeling  mortal  sick,  lying 
in  the  sunlight,  in  the  cabin,  with  an  Indian  splash- 
ing water  on  him. 

They  made  the  three  Points  the  next  morning, 
and  were  at  anchor  in  the  bay  beyond  them  before 
noon.  It  was  broiling  hot.  The  sea  lay  like  a 
mass  of  hot  grease.  The  dark  green  feathers  on 
the  palms  seemed  drooped  for  the  lack  of  freshness. 
One  heard  nothing  save  the  roaring  of  the  surf, 
the  birds  screaming  in  the  wood,  and  the  perpetual 
groaning  of  the  ship.  She  rolled  heavily,  banging 
her  gear  in  a  continual  clatter.  Her  blocks  were 
whining  like  dogs.  The  noise  of  her  was  like  a 
hammer  on  the  brain. 

Joe  volunteered  for  the  boat,  and  went  ashore 
with  the  water-casks  the  moment  the  anchor  held. 
He  had  been   fuddled  ever  since  the  day  before, 


164  A   MAINSAIL    HAUL 

and  the  ship  had  such  terrors  for  him,  drunk  as 
he  was,  there  was  no  staying  aboard  her.  On  the 
beach  he  met  Willy  Crackers,  an  old  English 
sailor,  who  lived  in  the  huts  above  the  surf  line. 
He  was  a  bronzed,  ear-ringed  man,  was  Willy, 
with  a  bright  eye  to  him  and  a  tongue  of  silver. 
He  had  been  in  that  land  many  years  now,  and 
owned  several  slaves.  He  used  to  get  gold  dust 
and  ivory  from  the  inland,  to  trade  with  the  ships 
which  touched  the  coast.  He  was  a  friend  to  the 
pirates,  and  they  used  to  water  there  before  drop- 
ping down  to  leeward.  He  returned  to  England 
in  time  a  rich  man,  and  died  in  Salcombe  the 
keeper  of  a  sailor's  tavern.  He  greeted  Joe  kindly, 
and  the  two  stayed  together  all  day,  in  the  blazing 
heat,  watching  the  natives  fill  the  water-casks  and 
stow  them  in  the  jolly  boat.  But  at  sunset,  when 
the  jolly  boat  went  off,  when  the  beach  struck 
cold,  and  the  mists  rose  whitely,  Willy  bade  Joe 
come  up  to  the  hut  for  a  bite  of  supper  and  a 
smoke. 

The  house  was  a  ramshackle  affair,  built  in  one 
storey  alongside  the  huts.  It  swung  some  three 
hammocks,    all    draped    with    netting.      It   had    a 


A    DEAL   OF    CARDS  165 

table  much  eaten  by  the  ants,  a  bench  or  two, 
some  casks  of  ship's  provisions  (which  might  have 
sailed  with  Hawkins),  a  pipe  of  rum,  a  few  teeth, 
most  of  them  a  little  yellow,  and  some  weapons, 
beautifully  bright,  in  a  trophy  rack  upon  the  wall. 
Towards  midnight,  Willy  got  up  to  fetch  his  mate 
a  curio.  A 

"Some  heathen  idol,"  he  said,  "them  blacks  give 
it  to  me  for  a  whittle." 

It  had  been  placed  behind  some  barrels,  and  what 
with  the  rum,  what  with  a  long  spell  of  laziness, 
Willy  was  unable  to  shift  them.  Joe  came  to  his 
assistance,  canted  the  casks,  and  rolled  them  away 
upon  their  chines. 

"Thankee,  mate,"  said  Willy,  "I'm  not  so  lim- 
ber as  I  was.  I  been  ashore  too  long.  Me  joints 
is  gone  in  the  slings."  He  paused  awhile.  Then 
he  piped  out,  "Mate,  matey,  supposin'  you  was  to 
stop  ashore  with  me.  There  ain't  no  call  for  you 
to  go  a-cruising.  I'd  be  proud  to  have  you.  Hell," 
he  continued,  "I  can't  rastle  them  blacks.  I  want 
some  one  spryer'n  myself.  Some  one  as'll  flay  their 
hides,  by  Davy." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment,  while  Joe's 


166  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

heart  leaped  with  pleasure.  He  had  been  taken 
with  so  great  a  horror  of  the  ship,  since  the  vision 
of  the  hag,  that  his  muddled  brain  had  planned 
suicide,  or  a  life  in  the  scrub  among  the  blacks, 
rather  than  another  day  between  decks.  The 
words  of  Willy  Crackers  lit  up  his  brain.  They 
showed  him  the  ease,  the  grandeur  of  the  life  of 
nigger  driver.  The  joyful  nights  over  the  jorum; 
the  English  ship;  the  thronged  quays  of  Bristol. 
He  took  the  offer  with  a  curse. 

"Billy,"  he  said,  "it'll  be  meat  and  drink  to 
me.  I  ain't  been  feeling  good  these  last  days. 
Going  to  sea  ain't  right  for  me.  It's  the  air  or 
something.  A  spell  ashore  is  what  I  want:  just 
what  I  want — that,  and  sleep.  I'll  get  my  chest 
ashore  when  the  cutter  comes  in  for  the  casks  to- 
morrow." 

"Why,  right  then,"  said  his  friend,  "you  look 
pretty  green  in  the  gills  with  it.  And  now  let's 
liquor  on  it." 

He  poured  out  two  more  noggins  from  the  pan, 
and  the  two  drank  to  each  other. 

"There's  a  song  I  mind  me,"  said  Joe,  "I'll  sing 
it  to  ye." 


A   DEAL   OF   CARDS  167 

He  began  to  sing  in  a  voice  a  little  muffled  with 
the  rum.  He  dwelt  upon  each  word,  singing  it 
with  gusto. 

O,  the  bold  Lollonais,  so  gall-ant  and  free, 

He  sailed  from  Saint  James  in  the  Jane  chasse-marree, 

Oh,  there's  rum  and  there's  wine 

And  tobacco  so  fine 
For  all  the  bold  sailors  what  sails  on  the  sea. 

He  sang  the  refrain  twice  over,  hammering  on 
the  table  with  his  can.  He  was  reaching  out  for 
another  tot  of  rum  when  he  fell  forward  gasping. 
His  pannikin  fell  from  the  table  and  rolled  away 
among  the  gear.  Willy  blinked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  beating  out  the  chorus  with  his  pipe. 
He  thought  his  mate  was  merely  overcome  with 
the  spirit.  He  made  a  childish  attempt  to  reach 
the  jorum  for  another  taste,  and  fell  asleep  in  his 
chair,  his  pipe's  ash  spilling  sparks  upon  the  table. 
The  lamp  flared  up  a  moment  to  show  the  couple 
to  the  night,  and  then  guttered  out,  leaving  them 
to  their  quiet. 

It  seemed  to  Joe  that  he  was  bound  upon  the 
rim  of  a  whirlpool  of  flame.  He  was  being  spun 
about  a  vortex,  helpless  as  a  straw;  gradually  the 


1 68  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

spinning  became  swifter,  as  though  he  had  been 
whirled  nearer  to  the  centre.  Then  tiny  hands 
seemed  to  pluck  him  down  into  a  pit  of  utter 
silence,  a  light  broke  upon  him,  and  there,  in 
front  of  him,  was  the  malevolent  woman  of  the 
cards.  She  grinned  at  him  with  her  brilliant  teeth, 
and  held  out  two  cards — one  black,  the  other 
crimson.  Soon  she  began  to  shuffle  with  them, 
tossing  them  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  throw- 
ing them  at  her  victim,  then  snatching  them  away. 
At  last  she  caught  them,  whirled  them  round  her, 
bowed  very  low,  and  held  them  forward,  face 
downwards,  watching  him  intently  with  a  malig- 
nant smile. 

"No,"  he  gasped :  "No,  I  will  not  choose." 
Instantly  she  screamed  in  her  high,  mocking 
laugh.  She  tossed  the  cards  from  her,  and  they 
whirled  away,  crying  like  gulls.  The  whirlpool 
spun  him  upward,  flinging  him  upon  a  sea  alive 
with  sharks.  He  leaped  from  them,  screaming, 
running  violently  upon  the  air;  but  they  rose 
after  him,  flapping  their  fins,  gnashing  their  teeth. 
They  were  barking  at  him  like  dogs,  snapping  at 
his  very  feet.    Then  he  fell,  fell,  fell,  till  he  was  as 


A    DEAL    OF    CARDS  169 

a  drop  of  water  gaped  at  by  all  the  damned  among 
the  fire. 

He  awoke  upon  the  hut  floor,  in  plain  day,  the 
blood  beating  on  his  brain,  the  surf  roaring.  A 
boat  was  pulling  in  from  the  ship,  the  oars  keep- 
ing time  to  an  old  hauling  tune.  Willy  Crackers 
was  snoring  in  his  chair,  and  after  trying  to  rouse 
him,  Joe  helped  himself  to  about  a  pint  of  rum 
and  staggered  out  upon  the  beach.  The  terror  of 
his  sleep  was  strong  upon  him.  The  palm  leaves, 
dangling  green  and  heavy,  were  a  horror  to  him. 
The  surf  terrified  him.  In  every  creeper  of  the 
jungle  he  saw  the  eyes  of  the  devil  with  the  cards. 
Not  for  a  sack  of  minted  gold  would  he  have 
stayed  in  that  place.  So  when  the  boat  made  the 
landing  he  tumbled  into  her,  and  fell  asleep,  in  a 
drunkard's  doze,  among  the  breakers  in  the  stern 
sheets.  He  did  not  rouse  from  where  he  lay  until 
rough  hands  beat  him  with  stretchers,  and  fierce 
voices  bade  him  out  of  that.  For  the  boat  was 
alongside  the  ship,  dragging  to  a  tackle,  and  the 
ship  was  under  a  jib  and  topsail,  forging  slowly  for- 
ward, while  the  hands  were  singing  at  the  bows, 
heaving  in  the  cable.    They  were  under  way. 


170  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

He  scrambled  aboard,  and  went  below  to  his 
hammock.  He  swung  there  all  that  day,  hot  with 
a  violent  fever,  and  now  and  again  an  Indian 
brought  him  drink.  Just  forward  of  where  he  lay, 
two  fiddlers  made  music  between  the  guns,  and 
men  sang  and  danced  there  till  they  were  too  drunk 
to  stir.  The  ship  picked  up  her  consort  that  after- 
noon. They  cruised  together  till  the  sunset,  when 
they  made  the  Gabone  River.  They  anchored  at 
about  ten  that  night  in  the  anchorage  by  Parrot 
Island. 

In  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  Joe  sat  be- 
tween two  cannon  on  a  lashed  sea  chest,  which 
had  his  initials,  J.  P.,  burnt  deeply  upon  the  lid. 
He  had  a  canvas  sack  in  front  of  him,  for  he  was 
busy  packing,  and  he  had  been  dicing  for  the  loot 
due  to  him  ever  since  his  morning  draught.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  quit  that  way  of  life  and  get 
ashore  to  the  island.  There  were  folk  living  on 
the  island — a  sort  of  traders.  He  could  stay  with 
them,  he  thought,  till  a  home-bound  ship  hap- 
pened into  the  river.  He  had  money  enough. 
And,  once  in  England,  there  was  always  work  for 
a  live  one.     Ever  since  he  had  had  these  visions,  a 


A    DEAL    OF    CARDS  171 

terror  of  the  sea  and  the  ships  had  made  his  life  a 
burden.  Drink,  even,  had  no  comforts  for  him; 
for,  from  the  hatchways,  from  the  dark  places 
behind  the  guns,  from  the  hold  where  the  casks 
lay,  he  would  see  peering  that  black  hag  of  the 
tarot.  So  he  had  gathered  his  gear  together,  and 
was  going  ashore  in  ten  minutes'  time,  to  live 
among  the  traders  till  a  ship  came.  He  would 
live  cleanly,  too,  without  rum,  except  in  the  way 
of  friendship.  His  head  wasn't  what  it  was.  It 
was  no  use  going  on  drinking  when  one  saw 
things. 

"You  give  me  that  knife,  Jake  Dawes,"  he  said, 
"and  I'll  throw  you  in  a  quart  of  hard." 

Jake  tossed  the  knife  to  him,  a  long  Spanish 
dirk,  with  a  handle  of  twisted  silver,  like  those  you 
buy  in  Panama.  There  was  a  noise  on  deck,  a  con- 
fused babble  of  cries  and  clanking. 

"What  in  hell  are  they  at,  Jake?"  he  asked. 

A  man  in  a  red  shirt,  a  leather  apron  and  sea 
boots  made  of  cow-hide  came  past  them  with  a 
bucketful  of  wads. 

"There's  a  fat  merchant  on  the  coast,"  he 
said,  "we're  going  out  for  her.     They're  getting 


172  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

under  way.  The  Fortune  s  men  are  giving  us  a 
tow." 

"I'm  off  ashore,"  said  Joe.  "To  blazes  with 
this  dicing.  Give  us  a  lift  there,  Billy,  with  these 
duds." 

"Oh,  that  be  twisted,  Joe,"  said  Jake,  as  he 
knocked  off  the  neck  of  a  bottle.  "Stop  and  drink 
fair." 

The  mulatto  grinned  at  him  and  handed  him  the 
spirits ;  Joe  took  a  large  swig. 

"That's  better,  Jake,"  he  said;  "have  you  got  a 
quid  upon  you?" 

They  spent  the  next  twenty  minutes  drinking  in 
turn,  and  chewing  meditatively  upon  the  quid. 
The  ship  was  under  way,  with  her  topsails  set, 
dropping  slowly  down  the  stream.  The  Fortune's 
men,  very  drunk,  had  cast  the  ropes  off  and  gone 
splashing  back  to  moorings.  Through  an  open  gun- 
port  Joe  caught  a  glimpse  of  moving  palms. 

"Hell!"  he  cried,  "I'm  off  ashore.  We're  mov- 
ing, Jakey." 

"The  boats  are  gone  by  this,"  said  the  mulatto* 
"it's  unchancy  swimming.  You'd  better  stay  for 
the  play." 


A    DEAL    OF    CARDS  173 

But  Joe  sprang  to  his  feet,  "I'll  swim  it,"  he 
cried,  as  he  made  a  rush  for  the  hatchway.  As  he 
passed  the  midship  cannon,  his  foot  caught  in  a 
ring  bolt.  He  stumbled  on  a  pace,  flung  up  his 
hands  and  crashed  heavily  over  the  ranged  port 
cable.  He  had  been  "overtaken,"  as  the  saying  is. 
A  man  in  a  fine  red  coat,  with  laced  cuffs,  and 
buttons  of  gold  pieces,  came  along  the  gun  deck 
swearing.  He  was  followed  by  another  man  bran- 
dishing a  pistol. 

"Get  to  your  guns  there,  you  swine!"  the  two 
were  shouting.  "Cast  loose  them  lower  deck 
cannon !  What  corpse  is  this  ?  What  in  hell  corpse 
is  this?  Hey  there,  you,  get  the  guns  run  out. 
We're  going  out  for  some  yellow  boys !" 

They  kicked  at  Joe's  body  in  turn  and  passed 
over  him  to  the  groups  of  drunkards  further  for- 
ward. Away  aft  a  gang  of  wits  had  cast  loose  a 
gun  and  were  busy  firing  at  the  sky.  On  deck  a 
seaman,  bawling  an  obscene  song,  was  running 
up  the  banner  of  the  trade — a  black  banner,  stolen 
from  an  undertaker,  with  two  rude  crimson  figures 
roughly  sewn  upon  its  face.  The  chase  was  under 
all  plain  sail,  some  two  miles  distant,  her  decks 


174  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

full  of  men  busy  trimming  her  yards.  The  sailing 
master,  watching  her  through  a  telescope  from  the 
fo'c's'le,  declared  her  to  be  a  French  Guineaman, 
swimming  deep.  Another  swore  that  she  was  out 
of  Lisbon,  a  sugar  ship  bound  home.  The  men 
hauled  the  spritsail  yard  alongships,  crying  out 
that  they  would  have  sweet  punch  for  supper.  The 
wind  freshened.  The  men  aloft  loosed  the  top- 
gallant sails.  The  helmsman  stood  smoking  at  the 
tiller.  On  deck  was  nothing  but  a  babble  of 
cries,  drowned  every  two  or  three  minutes  by  the 
cannon. 

But  Joe  lay  where  he  had  fallen,  heedless  of 
everything.  When  some  men  came  to  man  the 
cannon  at  his  side,  they  picked  him  up  by  the  heels 
and  lifted  him  below  to  the  sail-locker.  They  flung 
him  down  upon  a  mainsail,  and  went  back  to  their 
firing.  They  were  all  drunk  and  careless.  And 
though,  when  the  chase  ran  her  guns  out  and 
hung  out  the  King's  colours,  they  made  some  sort 
of  a  battle  of  it,  they  were  too  drunk  to  do  much. 
In  a  very  few  minutes  their  decks  were  being 
swept,  their  guns  knocked  over,  their  ports  beaten 
from  the  side,   and   their   men   driven  from   their 


A   DEAL   OF    CARDS  175 

posts.  The  powder  barrels  exploded  almost  at 
each  discharge,  for  the  powder  was  in  tubs  about 
the  deck,  littered  anyhow,  and  she  was  on  fire  in 
twenty  places  long  before  the  crew  surrendered. 

It  seemed  to  Joe  that  he  was  adrift  in  a  torrent, 
flying  down  stream.  It  was  all  black  about  him,  a 
blackness  full  of  roaring;  and  water  whirled  in  his 
mouth  and  nostrils  till  he  choked.  The  roaring 
grew  louder.  He  felt  himself  pitched  downwards. 
A  vast  weight  of  water  beat  upon  him,  and  then 
he  was  suddenly  flung  ashore  in  a  cave,  with 
pebbles  at  his  feet  and  a  great  dread  shaking  him. 
It  was  dark  enough,  but  not  positively  black,  in 
the  cave,  for  the  low  roof  glittered  with  a  metal, 
and  the  water  was  bright,  in  spangles,  as  it 
hurried  past  into  the  darkness.  As  he  arose  to  his 
feet  it  grew  lighter,  and  there  was  the  little  black 
hag  again,  in  her  red  dress,  with  the  bitter  smile 
upon  her  lips.  She  burst  into  a  harsh  chattering 
laugh,  like  the  rapid  whirring  of  a  cog-wheel.  She 
spun  around  him  once  or  twice,  gibbering  with  her 
lips.  Then  she  stooped  before  him,  plucked  out  a 
card,  and  thrust  it  into  his  hand  with  a  mocking 
bow.     He  stared  at  it  stupidly  for  a  moment  before 


176  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

he  turned  it  over.  It  was  a  black  card,  black  on 
both  sides,  of  a  black  like  the  black  of  swirling 
smoke,  and  its  blackness  made  him  shudder.  The 
hag  watched  his  face  a  moment,  and  broke  into  a 
violent  and  mirthless  merriment.  Her  face  wrin- 
kled in  her  laugh,  and  sharpened  till  she  looked 
like  a  vulture  rocking  with  some  uncanny  joy. 
Then  she  screamed  in  a  long,  shrill,  wailing  scream 
like  the  scream  of  night  birds  flying  in  a  company. 
She  tossed  her  hands  upward,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  victim  that  the  wicked  figure  vanished  through 
his  eyes,  and  as  though  the  skinny  fingers  clutched 
at  his  heart  from  inside  him.  In  another  second 
the  cave  had  torn  apart  and  flung  him  upward.  He 
gave  a  gasp  and  a  cry  and  awoke  in  the  darkness 
of  the  sail-locker,  in  a  silence  only  broken  by 
scurrying  rats  and  the  dull  gurgling  of  the 
bilge. 

He  picked  himself  up  and  went  on  deck,  his 
head  throbbing  like  a  drum.  He  saw  that  the  deck 
had  been  ripped  with  shot.  Many  bodies  were 
lying  on  the  planks.  There  was  a  smell  of  blood, 
of  burning,  of  burnt  linen,  and  powder  smoke. 
The  ship  was  unusually  still,   for  the  lower  deck 


A   DEAL   OF   CARDS  177 

was  empty  save  for  the  killed.  He  pushed  up  the 
hatchway  in  terror. 

As  he  gained  the  upper  deck  he  saw  at  once  what 
had  happened,  for  a  big  blue  banner  was  flapping 
at  the  peak,  and  a  few  marines  in  red  coats  were 
watching  the  last  gang  of  his  comrades  into  a  jolly 
boat  alongside.  They  had  been  stripped  already. 
Their  silks  and  laces  were  dangling  from  their 
captors'  pockets.  A  little  lieutenant  in  a  long  red 
coat  was  superintending  the  embarkation,  tapping 
his  breeches  with  a  cane  to  mark  the  number  of 
them.    Joe  drew  his  hanger  from  its  sheath. 

"Taken!"  he  screamed,  "taken!"  and  he  rushed 
at  the  lieutenant  to  cut  him  down. 

A  burly  mariner  in  an  apron  bounded  upon  him 
from  behind.  Joe  felt  a  blow  upon  the  sconce,  and 
collapsed  upon  the  deck  like  a  sack  of  flour. 

"One  hundred  and  three,"  counted  the  lieuten- 
ant; "that  was  a  good  crack  you  gave  him.  Shove 
him  down  among  the  others." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Joe  woke  from  his  fever. 
He  was  lying  chained  hand  and  foot  in  a  dark 
prison  lit  only  by  a  battle  lamp.  One  side  of  him 
was  pressed   against   the   bulkhead   of   the  prison; 


178  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

the  other  was  riveted  to  a  wounded  man,  a  man  in 
high  fever,  who  babbled  in  his  pain.  He  could  dis- 
tinguish other  bodies  lying  near  him. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  cried. 

"Hold  your  jaw!"  said  a  hoarse  voice,  through 
the  grating.  "Hold  your  jaw.  You're  aboard  the 
frigate  Swallow,  if  you  want  to  know.  And  you'll 
be  hanged  for  a  damned  rogue  to-morrow  dawn." 


THE   DEVIL   AND   THE   OLD    MAN     179 


THE   DEVIL   AND   THE   OLD   MAN 

Up  away  north,  in  the  old  days,  in  Chester,  there 
was  a  man  who  never  throve.  Nothing  he  put  his 
hand  to  ever  prospered,  and  as  his  state  worsened, 
his  friends  fell  away,  and  he  grew  desperate.  So 
one  night  when  he  was  alone  in  his  room,  thinking 
of  the  rent  due  in  two  or  three  days  and  the  money 
he  couldn't  scrape  together,  he  cried  out,  "I  wish  I 
could  sell  my  soul  to  the  devil  like  that  man  the 
old  books  tell  about." 

Now  just  as  he  spoke  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
and,  while  it  chimed,  a  sparkle  began  to  burn 
about  the  room,  and  the  air,  all  at  once,  began  to 
smell  of  brimstone,  and  a  voice  said : 

"Will  these  terms  suit  you?" 

He  then  saw  that  some  one  had  just  placed  a 
parchment  there.  He  picked  it  up  and  read  it 
through;  and  being  in  despair,  and  not  knowing 
what  he  was  doing,  he  answered,  "Yes,"  and 
looked  round  for  a  pen. 


180  A   MAINSAIL   HAUL 

"Take  and  sign,"  said  the  voice  again,  "but  first 
consider  what  it  is  you  do;  do  nothing  rashly. 
Consider." 

So  he  thought  awhile;  then  "Yes"  he  said,  "I'll 
sign,"  and  with  that  he  groped  for  the  pen. 

"Blood  from  your  left  thumb  and  sign,"  said  the 
voice. 

So  he  pricked  his  left  thumb  and  signed. 

"Here  is  your  earnest  money,"  said  the  voice, 
"nine  and  twenty  silver  pennies.  This  day  twenty 
years  hence  I  shall  see  you  again." 

Now  early  next  morning  our  friend  came  to  him- 
self and  felt  like  one  of  the  drowned.  "What  a 
dream  I've  had,"  he  said.  Then  he  woke  up  and 
saw  the  nine  and  twenty  silver  pennies  and  smelt  a 
faint  smell  of  brimstone. 

So  he  sat  in  his  chair  there,  and  remembered 
that  he  had  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  for  twenty 
years  of  heart's-desire ;  and  whatever  fears  he  may 
have  had  as  to  what  might  come  at  the  end  of 
those  twenty  years,  he  found  comfort  in  the  thought 
that,  after  all,  twenty  years  is  a  good  stretch  of 
time,  and  that  throughout  them  he  could  eat, 
drink,  merrymake,  roll  in  gold,  dress  in  silk,  and 


THE    DEVIL   AND    THE    OLD    MAN     181 

be  care-free,  heart  at  ease  and  jib-sheet  to  wind- 
ward. 

So  for  nineteen  years  and  nine  months  he  lived 
in  great  state,  having  his  heart's  desire  in  all 
things;  but,  when  his  twenty  years  were  nearly 
run  through,  there  was  no  wretcheder  man  in  all 
the  world  than  that  poor  fellow.  So  he  threw  up 
his  house,  his  position,  riches,  everything,  and 
away  he  went  to  the  port  of  Liverpool,  where  he 
signed  on  as  A.B.,  aboard  a  Black  Ball  packet,  a 
tea  clipper,  bound  to  the  China  seas. 

They  made  a  fine  passage  out,  and  when  our 
friend  had  only  three  days  more,  they  were  in  the 
Indian  Ocean  lying  lazy,  becalmed. 

Now  it  was  his  wheel  that  forenoon,  and  it  being 
dead  calm,  all  he  had  to  do  was  just  to  think  of 
things ;  the  ship  of  course  having  no  way  on  her. 

So  he  stood  there,  hanging  on  to  the  spokes, 
groaning  and  weeping  till,  just  twenty  minutes  or 
so  before  eight  bells  were  made,  up  came  the  Cap- 
tain for  a  turn  on  deck. 

He  went  aft,  of  course,  took  a  squint  aloft,  and 
saw  our  friend  crying  at  the  wheel.  "Hello,  my 
man,"  he  says,  "why,  what's  all  this?     Ain't  you 


i82  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

well  ?  You'd  best  lay  aft  for  a  dose  o'  salts  at  four 
bells  to-night." 

"No,  cap'n,"  said  the  man,  "there's  no  salts'll 
ever  cure  my  sickness." 

"Why,  what's  all  this?"  says  the  old  man.  "You 
must  be  sick  if  it's  as  bad  as  all  that.  But  come 
now;  your  cheek  is  all  sunk,  and  you  look  as  if  you 
ain't  slept  well.  What  is  it  ails  you,  anyway? 
Have  you  anything  on  your  mind?" 

"Captain,"  he  answers  very  solemn,  "I  have  sold 
my  soul  to  the  devil." 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  man,  "why,  that's  bad.  That's 
powerful  bad.  I  never  thought  them  sort  of  things 
ever  happened  outside  a  book." 

"But,"  said  our  friend,  "that's  not  the  worst  of 
it,  Captain.  At  this  time  three  days  hence  the  devil 
will  fetch  me  home." 

"Good  Lord!"  groaned  the  old  man.  "Here's 
a  nice  hurrah's  nest  to  happen  aboard  my  ship.  But 
come  now,"  he  went  on,  "did  the  devil  give  you  no 
chance — no  saving-clause  like?  Just  think  quietly 
for  a  moment." 

"Yes,  Captain,"  said  our  friend,  "just  when  I 
made   the  deal,   there  came  a  whisper  in  my  ear. 


THE    DEVIL   AND    THE   OLD    MAN     183 

And,"  he  said,  speaking  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to 
let  the  mate  hear,  "if  I  can  give  the  devil  three 
jobs  to  do  which  he  cannot  do,  why,  then,  Captain," 
he  says,  "I'm  saved,  and  that  deed  of  mine  is  can- 
celled." 

Well,  at  this  the  old  man  grinned  and  said, 
"You  just  leave  things  to  me,  my  son.  I'll  fix  the 
devil  for  you.  Aft  there,  one  o'  you,  and  relieve 
the  wheel.  Now  you  run  forrard,  and  have  a  good 
watch  below,  and  be  quite  easy  in  your  mind,  for 
I'll  deal  with  the  devil  for  you.  You  rest  and  be 
easy." 

And  so  that  day  goes  by,  and  the  next,  and  the 
one  after  that,  and  the  one  after  that  was  the  day 
the  Devil  was  due. 

Soon  as  eight  bells  was  made  in  the  morning 
watch,  the  old  man  called  all  hands  aft. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "I've  got  an  all-hands  job  for 
you  this  forenoon." 

"Mr.  Mate,"  he  cried,  "get  all  hands  on  to  the 
main-tops'l  halliards  and  bowse  the  sail  stiff  up  and 
down." 

So  they  passed  along  the  halliards,  and  took  the 
turns  off,  and  old  John  Chantyman  piped  up — 


184  A   MAINSAIL    HAUL 

There's  a  Black  Ball   clipper 
Comin'  down  the  river. 

And  away  the  yard  went  to  the  mast-head  till  the 
bunt-robands  jammed  in  the  sheave. 

"Very  well  that,"  said  the  old  man.  "Now  get 
my  dinghy  off  o'  the  half-deck  and  let  her  drag 
alongside." 

So  they  did  that,  too. 

"Very  well  that,"  said  the  old  man.  "Now 
forrard  with  you,  to  the  chain-locker,  and  rouse  out 
every  inch  of  chain  you  find  there." 

So  forrard  they  went,  and  the  chain  was  lighted 
up  and  flaked  along  the  deck  all  clear  for  run- 
ning. 

"Now,  Chips,"  says  the  old  man  to  the  car- 
penter, "just  bend  the  spare  anchor  to  the  end  of 
that  chain,  and  clear  away  the  fo'c's'le  rails  ready 
for  when  we  let  go." 

So  they  did  this,  too. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  man,  "get  them  tubs  of 
slush  from  the  galley.  Pass  that  slush  along  there, 
doctor.  Very  well  that.  Now  turn  to,  all  hands, 
and  slush  away  every  link  in  that  chain  a  good  inch 
thick  in  grease." 


THE   ©EVIL  AND   THE   OLD   MAN     185 

So  they  did  that,  too,  and  wondered  what  the  old 
man  meant. 

"Very  well  that,"  cries  the  old  man.  "Now 
get  below  all  hands !  Chips,  on  to  the  fo'c's'le  head 
with  you  and  stand  by!  I'll  keep  the  deck,  Mr. 
Mate !    Very  well  that." 

So  all  hands  tumbled  down  below;  Chips  took 
a  fill  o'  baccy  to  leeward  of  the  capstan,  and  the 
old  man  walked  the  weather-poop  looking  for  a 
sign  of  hell-fire. 

It  was  still  dead  calm — but  presently,  towards 
six  bells,  he  raised  a  black  cloud  away  to  leeward, 
and  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  lightning  in  it ;  only  the 
flashes  were  too  red,  and  came  too  quick. 

"Now,"  says  he  to  himself,  "stand  by." 

Very  soon  that  black  cloud  worked  up  to  wind- 
ward, right  alongside,  and  there  came  a  red  flash, 
and  a  strong  sulphurous  smell,  and  then  a  loud  peal 
of  thunder  as  the  devil  steps  aboard. 

"Mornin',  cap'n,"  says  he. 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Devil,"  says  the  old  man,  "and 
what  in  blazes  do  you  want  aboard  my  ship  ?" 

"Why,  Captain,"  said  the  devil,  "I've  come  for 
the  soul  of  one  of  your  hands  as  per  signed  agree- 


186  A    MAINSAIL   HAUL 

ment:  and,  as  my  time's  pretty  full  up  in  these 
wicked  days,  I  hope  you  won't  keep  me  waiting  for 
him  longer  than  need  be." 

"Well,  Mr.  Devil,"  says  the  old  man,  "the  man 
you  come  for  is  down  below,  sleeping,  just  at 
this  moment.  It's  a  fair  pity  to  call  him  up 
till  it's  right  time.  So  supposin'  I  set  you  them 
three  tasks.  How  would  that  be?  Have  you  any 
objections?" 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  devil,  "fire  away  as  soon  as 
you  like." 

"Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  see  that 
main-tops'l  yard?  Suppose  you  lay  out  on  that 
main-tops'l  yard  and  take  in  three  reefs  single- 
handed." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  the  devil  said,  and  he  ran  up  the 
ratlines,  into  the  top,  up  the  topmast  rigging  and 
along  the  yard. 

Well,  when  he  found  the  sail  stiff  up  and  down, 
he  hailed  the  deck: 

"Below  there!  On  deck  there!  Lower  away  ya 
halliards!" 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  old  man,  "nary  a  lower." 

"Come   up   your   sheets,   then,"   cries   the   devil. 


THE   DEVIL   AND   THE   OLD    MAN     187 

"This  main-topsail's  stiff  up-and-down.  How'm  I 
to  take  in  three  reefs  when  the  sail's  stiff  up-and- 
down?" 

"Why,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  cant  do  it. 
Come  out  o'  that!  Down  from  aloft,  you  hoof- 
footed  son.    That's  one  to  me." 

"Yes,"  says  the  devil,  when  he  got  on  deck  again, 
"I  don't  deny  it,  cap'n.    That's  one  to  you." 

"Now,  Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  going  to- 
wards the  rail,  "suppose  you  was  to  step  into  that 
little  boat  alongside  there.    Will  you  please?" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  slid  down  the 
forrard  fall,  got  into  the  stern  sheets,  and  sat 
down. 

"Now,  Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  skipper,  taking  a 
little  salt  spoon  from  his  vest  pocket,  "supposin' 
you  bail  all  the  water  on  that  side  the  boat  on  to 
this  side  the  boat,  using  this  spoon  as  your  dipper." 

Well! — the  devil  just  looked  at  him. 

"Say!"  he  said  at  length,  "which  of  the  New 
England  States  d'ye  hail  from  anyway?" 

"Not  Jersey,  anyway,"  said  the  old  man.  "That's 
two  up,  alright;  ain't  it,  sonny?" 

"Yes,"   growls  the  devil,   as  he  climbs  aboard. 


188  A    MAINSAIL    HAUL 

"That's  two  up.  Two  to  you  and  one  to  play. 
Now,  what's  your  next  contraption?" 

"Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  very 
innocent,  "you  see,  I've  ranged  my  chain  ready 
for  letting  go  anchor.  Now  Chips  is  forrard  there, 
and  when  I  sing  out,  he'll  let  the  anchor  go.  Sup- 
posin'  you  stopper  the  chain  with  them  big  hands 
o'  yourn  and  keep  it  from  running  out  clear.  Will 
you,  please  ?" 

So  the  devil  takes  off  his  coat  and  rubs  his  hands 
together,  and  gets  away  forrard  by  the  bitts,  and 
stands  by. 

"All  ready,  cap'n,"  he  says. 

"All  ready,  Chips?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"All  ready,  sir,"  replies  Chips. 

"Then,  stand  by — Let  go  the  anchor,"  and  clink, 
clink,  old  Chips  knocks  out  the  pin,  and  away  goes 
the  spare  anchor  and  greased  chain  into  a  five  mile 
deep  of  God's  sea.  As  I  said,  they  were  in  the  In- 
dian Ocean. 

Well — there  was  the  devil,  making  a  grab  here 
and  a  grab  there,  and  the  slushy  chain  just  slipping 
through  his  claws,  and  at  whiles  a  bight  of  chain 
would  spring  clear  and  rap  him  in  the  eye. 


THE    DEVIL   AND    THE   OLD    MAN     189 

So  at  last  the  cable  was  nearly  clean  gone,  and 
the  devil  ran  to  the  last  big  link  (which  was  seized 
to  the  heel  of  the  foremast),  and  he  put  both  his 
arms  through  it,  and  hung  on  to  it  like  grim  death. 

But  the  chain  gave  such  a  Yank  when  it  came- 
to,  that  the  big  link  carried  away,  and  oh,  roll  and 
go,  out  it  went  through  the  hawsehole,  in  a  shower 
of  bright  sparks,  carrying  the  devil  with  it.  There 
is  no  devil  now.    The  devil's  dead. 

As  for  the  old  man,  he  looked  over  the  bows 
watching  the  bubbles  burst,  but  the  devil  never  rose. 
Then  he  went  to  the  fo'c's'le  scuttle  and  banged 
thereon  with  a  hand-spike. 

"Rouse  out,  there,  the  Port  Watch!"  he  called, 
"an*  get  my  dinghy  inboard." 


NOTE 

Nearly  all  these  stories  and  one  of  the  histori- 
cal papers  first  appeared  in  the  Manchester 
Guardian;  one  tale  is  reprinted  from  the  Na- 
tion and  one  from  the  Pall  Mall  Magazine. 
The  four  remaining  historical  papers  are  re- 
printed from  the  Gentleman  s  Magazine. 

I  thank  the  Editors  and  Proprietors  of  all 
these  periodicals  for  permission  to  include  the 
papers  in  this  volume. 


THE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of 
books  by  the  same  author,  and  other  poetry 


NEW  BOOKS  BY  JOHN  MASEFIELD 

The  Daffodil  Fields 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.25  net;  postpaid,  $1.36 

"Neither  in  the  design  nor  in  the  telling  did,  or  could, 
'Enoch  Arden'  come  near  the  artistic  truth  of  'The  Daffodil 
Fields'." — Sir  Quiller-Couch,  Cambridge  University. 

Salt  Water  Ballads 

Cloth,  i2mo.    Preparing 

No  living  poet  has  caught  the  wild  beauty  of  the  sea, 
and  imDrisoned  it  in  such  haunting  verse.  John  Masefield 
has  done  in  these  poems  what  many  consider  his  finest  work. 

The  Tragedy  of  Pompey 

Cloth,  i2mo.    Preparing 

A  play  such  as  only  the  author  of  "Nan"  could  have 
written.  Tense  in  situation  and  impressive  in  its  poetry 
it  conveys  Masefield's  genius  in  the  handling  of  the  dramatic 
form. 


PUBLISHED  BY 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


JOHN  MASEFIELD'S 

The  Everlasting  Mercy,  andThe 
Widow  in  the  Bye  Street 

Cloth,  $1.35  net;  postpaid,  $1.38 
NEW  AND  REVISED  EDITION 

"The  Everlasting  Mercy"  was  awarded  the  Edward  de 
Polignac  prize  of  $500  by  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature  for 
the  best  imaginative  work  of  the  year. 

"John  Masefield  is  the  man  of  the  hour,  and  the  man  of 
to-morrow  too,  in  poetry  and  in  the  playwriting  craft." — 
John  Galsworthy. 

" —  recreates  a  wholly  new  drama  of  existence." — William 
Stanley  Braithwaite,  N.  Y.  Times. 

"Mr.  Masefield  comes  like  a  flash  of  light  across  contem- 
porary English  poetry,  and  he  trails  glory  where  his  imagina- 
tions reveals  the  substances  of  life.  The  improbable  has  been 
accomplished  by  Mr.  Masefield;  he  has  made  poetry  out 
of  the  very  material  that  has  refused  to  yield  it  for  almost 
a  score  of  years.  It  has  only  yielded  it  with  a  passion  of 
Keats,  and  shaped  it  with  the  imagination  of  Coleridge." — 
Boston  Evening  Transcript. 

"Originality,  force,  distinction,  and  deep  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"They  are  truly  great  pieces." — Kentucky  Post. 

"A  vigor  and  sincerity  rare  in  modern  English  literature." 
— The  Independent. 

"If  Mr.  Masefield  has  occasionally  appeared  to  touch  a 
reminiscent  chord  with  George  Meredith,  it  is  merely  an  ex- 
ample of  ki9  good  taste  and  the  sameness  of  big  themes." — 
George  Middleton  in  La  Follette's  Magazine. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


JOHN  MASEFIELD'S 

The  Story  of  a  Round-House 

and  other  Poems 

Cloth,  i2mo,  S1.30  net;   postpaid,  $1.43 

NEW  AND  REVISED   EDITION 

"John  Masefield  has  produced  the  finest  literature  of  the 
year."— J.  W.  Barrie. 

"John  Masefield  is  the  most  interesting  poetic  personality 
of  the  day." — The  Continent. 

"Ah!  the  story  of  that  rounding  the  Horn!  Never  in 
prose  has  the  sea  been  so  tremendously  described." — Chicago 
Evening  Post. 

"Masefield's  new  book  attracts  the  widest  attention  from 
those  who  in  any  degree  are  interested  in  the  quality  of 
present-day  literature." — Boston  Transcript. 

"A  remarkable  poem  of  the  sea." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"Vivid  and  thrillingly  realistic." — Current  Literature. 

"A  genuine  sailor  and  a  genuine  poet  are  a  rare  combina- 
tion; they  have  produced  a  rare  poem  of  the  sea,  which  has 
made  Mr.  Masefield's  position  in  literature  secure  beyond 
the  reach  of  caviling." — Everybody's  Magazine. 

"Masefield  has  prisoned  in  verse  the  spirit  of  life  at  sea." 
— N.  Y.  Sun. 

"There  is  strength  about  everything  Masefield  writes  that 
compels  the  feeling  that  he  has  an  inward  eye  on  which  he 
draws  to  shape  new  films  of  old  pictures.  In  these  pictures 
is  freshness  combined  with  power,  which  form  the  keynotes 
of  his  poetry."-— N.  Y.  Globe. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


The  Poems  of  Wilfrid  Wilson 
Gibson 

DAILY  BREAD       New  edition.    Three  volumes  in  one. 

$1.25  net 

Contains  "The  Shirt,"  a  new  poem  of  impressive  poignancy 
and  power. 

"A  Millet  in  word-painting,  who  writes  with  a  terrible 
simplicity,  is  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson,  born  in  Hexham,  England, 
in  1878,  of  whom  Canon  Cheyne  wrote:  'A  new  poet  of  the 
people  has  risen  up  among  us.'  The  story  of  a  soul  is 
written  as  plainly  in  'Daily  Bread'  as  in  'The  Divine 
Comedy'  and  in  'Paradise  Lost.'" — The  Outlook. 

FIRES  $1.25  net 

"In  'Fires'  as  in  'Daily  Bread,'  the  fundamental  note  is 
human  sympathy  with  the  whole  of  life.  Impressive  as 
these  dramas  are,  it  is  in  their  cumulative  effect  that  they 
are  chiefly  powerful." — Atlantic  Monthly. 

WOMENKIND  $1.25  net 

"Mr.  Gibson  is  a  genuine  singer  of  his  own  day  and  turns 
into  appealing  harmony  the  world's  harshly  jarring  notes 
of  poverty  and  pain." — The  Outlook. 


PUBLISHED  BY 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


Three  Important  New  Volumes 
of  Poetry 

By  JOHN  HELSTON 

LONICERA  AND  OTHER  POEMS  Preparing 

This  book  introduces  another  poet  of  promise  to  the  verse- 
lovers  of  this  country.  It  is  of  interest  to  learn  that  Mr. 
Helston,  who  for  several  years  was  an  operative  mechanic 
in  electrical  works,  has  created  a  remarkable  impression  in 
England  where  much  is  expected  of  him.  This  volume, 
characterized  by  verse  of  rare  beauty,  presents  his  most 
representative  work,  ranging  from  the  long  descriptive  title- 
poem  to  shorter  lyrics. 

By  HERMANN  HAGEDORN 

POEMS  AND  BALLADS  Preparing 

"His  is  perhaps  the  most  confident  of  the  prophecies  of 
our  new  poets  for  he  has  seen  most  clearly  the  poetry  in 
the  new  life.  His  song  is  full  of  the  spirit  of  youth  and  hope. 
...  It  is  the  song  that  the  new  century  needs.  His  verse 
is  strong  and  flexible  and  has  an  ease,  a  naturalness,  a  rhythm 
that  is  rare  in  young  poets.  In  many  of  his  shorter  lyrics 
he  recalls  Heine." — Boston  Transcript. 

By  FANNIE  STEARNS  DAVIS 

MYSELF  AND  I  $1.00  net 

"For  some  years  the  poems  of  Miss  Davis  have  attracted 
wide  attention  in  the  best  periodicals.  That  note  of  wistful 
mysticism  which  shimmers  in  almost  every  line  gives  her 
art  a  distinction  that  is  bound  to  make  its  appeal.  In  this 
first  book — where  every  verse  is  significant — Miss  Davis  has 
achieved  very  beautiful  and  serious  poetry." — Boston  Tran- 
script.   

PUBLISHED  BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  ,  New  York 


AUSTIN   BOOK  SHOP 
BERNARD  TITOWSKY 
82-64  AUSTIN  STREET 


